Time After Time
by Dasque
Summary: Sometimes what comes after is the hardest part. Prequel to Here Without You.
1. Prelude

**Disclaimer: **Dragon Age is still not mine, in case you were wondering. However, Aeryc and Jaedan ARE! Woot!

**A/N: **_I realize that the Dragon Age Wiki states that both Ostagar and the Battle of Denerim take place during the year 9:30, but that didn't really suit my purposes. For this story, Ostagar, the Civil War and most of the events of the game take place that year, but the actual slaying of the archdemon happens in mid- spring of 9:31._

_And we're off!_

* * *

**Prelude**

**.**

_**Bloomingtide, Year 9:31**_

_**One Month After the Archdemon**_

_**Denerim**_

_._

_She cried and she cried and she cried and she cried_

_She cried so long the tears ran dry_

_And she laughed and she laughed and she laughed and she laughed_

'_Cause she knew she was never coming back_

_~ Beth Hart_

_._

.

_Don't look back._

Zevran's whispered warning skipped in her mind like a broken mantra as she raced through the streets of Denerim, blinking back tears while the city blurred at the edges of her vision like colored wax, melting beneath the grey morning sun.

_Don't look back, Elissa_.

The gate seemed further away than she recalled, taunting her resolve. She gritted her teeth, the promise of freedom and the ability to _breathe _again looming just ahead.

She could still feel his eyes on her.

She shook off the tingling at the base of her skull and the tears out of her eyes, and kicked her horse, urging it faster, leaving the early morning populace on their own to scramble out of her way. They did, and she caught more than one look of disbelief as they recognized the Hero of Ferelden, running away from the city like the ground was about to open up beneath her.

She finally burst free of the suffocating walls that had closed in around her for the past month and sucked in a fractured breath, knowing with certainty that she was out of his sight. Still, she didn't slow down until the horse began to show signs of fatigue, and then only reluctantly did she draw back on the reins and slow to a walk, unwilling to have to stop and allow the beast to rest.

Zevran was out of breath when he caught up, unaccustomed to riding and certainly to the breakneck pace she had just set. "I realize that you have said before that Highever is a land of horsemen, but I must admit I thought you simply _ruled _over them and thus included yourself in that description." He winced and shifted in his saddle. "More the fool I."

She didn't answer, just closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing. A woman whose major life decisions were decided more often than not by impulse, it took a moment for her to comprehend that she was really _here_, a mere handful of hours after deciding that she couldn't tolerate staying in the palace for even another day. She was still unsure if it was the right thing to do, but like all those other decisions, she'd see it through regardless.

A gentle hand brushed her arm and made her jump. Zevran's eyes crinkled with concern. "Are you certain you are all right?"

"Yes," she lied, not meeting his gaze.

He wasn't fooled, watching her carefully, but Elissa had no intention of falling apart. She'd held it together since the disastrous Landsmeet, fighting back the urge for tears at every turn. She was free now, and well rid of all of them. Tears would only be indulging in weakness after enduring for so long. They hadn't managed to break her yet.

Except the one notable exception of the night Morrigan came to her with her alternative…

She quickly squelched that memory when a light prickling made her throat tighten and burn, and she resolutely hardened herself against the onslaught of pent up emotions determined to get their claws into her. "Are you ready?" she asked Zevran. "I want to get as far away from Denerim as possible."

He nodded slowly, still worried. "Onward."

She grinned in some attempt to assure him, but it was a pathetic ghost of her old humor that didn't feel quite right on her face. "Try to keep up, then."

The miles melted away behind them, and Aiden galloped alongside, as grateful to be away from stone and walls and restrictions as she was, if for completely different reasons. By the time the sun was high the city had faded back into the horizon, only the smoke from the cooking fires and hearths still visible to mark its existence.

_Don't look back, Elissa_, she chanted to herself, over and over as the day faded to grey twilight around them and the stars appeared overhead, twinkling brightly in defiance of the gloom.

_Don't _ever _look back_.

…

Elissa wasn't sure when she decided to put off her arrival in Amaranthine and go to Highever first, but when she told Zevran of her intention, he merely nodded. "Your brother should have already arrived, no? Doubtless he will be glad of the company."

He was most likely right, but the words sparked a shiver of dread. She didn't know if she could be who Fergus needed her to be anymore. His memories were still centered on the girl she had been before he had ridden to Ostagar; to him she was still the smiling child who had imitated him until she was allowed to take up the sword craft herself, the young woman who laughed and ran through the grasses collecting the spring's first violets when it was time to move the herds to their new grounds.

Elissa didn't even know that person anymore.

Zevran took a place across the fire from her and deftly reached in to flip the bit of venison that sat on the hot coals with bare fingers, snatching his fingers back before it even burned him. "You realize, of course, that Highever… it may still be bad, my friend."

"I know," she said. She didn't expect to go there and find anything that would bring her comfort, the memories hard and sharp even after a year of trying to deal with them. But it was still Highever, and every fiber of her being was crying out to go _home_.

Zevran watched her in the golden glow cast by the campfire, and his constant scrutiny was beginning to chafe. "I know what I'm doing," she said, a hint of a growl in her voice.

He put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Never would I claim otherwise. I am but a servant."

"Servants aren't nearly as _pushy_."

He laughed, unfazed by her sour demeanor. She had been sulky and snapping for a while now, and only his unwavering loyalty had ensured that she had even one companion who remained at her side. She hadn't even had to ask him to come. When she had confessed her intention to slip out of Denerim he had simply shrugged, asking when she wanted to leave, never questioning the wisdom of her choice. She bit her lip and ducked her head, sorry for snapping at him. "I don't know why you put up with me," she mumbled.

"Nor I," he said with a flash of white teeth, chuckling when she scowled at him. "But it is the road I have chosen, no? There is something to be said in that."

She sighed. "I'll feel better after I sleep."

He frowned. "You have not eaten all day."

"I'm not hungry," she said, and his frown deepened. "I still can't eat." It was true enough. She had taken ill just before the fight with the archdemon, and despite the long recovery she still didn't feel at her full strength. Even the thought of food made her stomach churn. "I'll try to force down something tomorrow."

He heaved a sigh. "Very well, then."

Elissa bedded down right next to the fire, having left her tent behind in Denerim. The night was warm enough despite the lingering chill of spring, and she yanked her blanket out of her pack without much concern for her comfort. When she shook it out, the gleam of something silver flashed in the firelight before landing in the dirt beside her.

Her heart thudded in her throat when she recognized the silver chain bearing a single purple stone. She had thought that she left all those things behind, but apparently the necklace had hidden away, waiting to spring on her like a trap when she least expected it. She picked it up with numb fingers, rubbing the stone with her thumb. It was a gem the people of Highever had dubbed Royal Eye, akin to an amethyst, but deeper in color. It was found only on the northern coastline, some combination of the rock and sea air aiding its creation.

She quickly ducked under her blanket and rolled over, clutching the stone to her chest, her eyes squeezed shut, breathing deeply so that Zevran could not see how it had upset her.

Alistair had bought it for her in Denerim after discovering its origin, forgoing the rather necessary purchase of a new chain shirt for himself and dropping nearly every coin he had to his name on it. He was always doing things like that—eager and earnest in impetuous acts of affection that he never seemed to regret afterward. He was like a child in many ways, stumbling forward and occasionally tripping but always pressing on with the best of intentions.

She hoped she hadn't destroyed that.

Elissa drew her knees to her chest, huddled into herself as she fought to keep her composure, but the fight was lost before it began. Her heart was shattering, tearing ragged holes in her lungs that bubbled up as sobs, and she no longer cared if Zevran knew it.

At her first whimpered gasp he was there, lying beside her on her bedroll and pulling her towards him with a soothing _hush_. Blindly she hung onto him, her fingers curled in the cloth of his shirt while her tears soaked his neck and shoulder.

It was all _wrong_—he wasn't tall enough, and he was too slender, and he smelled of scented soap and leather instead of campfires and sunlight.

The flood of tears worsened, and she couldn't hold back the crippling flow.

But Zevran had been expecting this long-needed release, if not _waiting _for it, and for a long time he held her and waited patiently for the tide to ebb, murmuring softly in his native tongue.

"It will heal, my friend," he said.

"I don't want… I just want to forget it. Him. _Everything_."

He sighed. "That will not happen," he whispered, unable to placate her with lies even now. "What you had was powerful, and ended brutally. You will never forget. But eventually, the day may come when remembering does not hurt as much."


	2. Rebuilding

**Rebuilding**

**.**

_**Bloomingtide; Year 9:31**_

_**On the Road to Highever**_

.

_So much for my happy ending_

_~ Avril Lavigne_

.

.

The bandit was clumsy.

Elissa was surprised that they had no trouble thus far on the roads; in the aftermath of the Bight the highwaymen were more numerous and desperate than ever, and although she and Zevran brought little by the way of coin, they were a walking fortune in armor and weapons. She lay quietly and listened to the heavy footsteps and occasional grunt, and thought darkly that whoever the man was, he'd do much better to switch professions. She kept a firm grip on the fur at Aiden's neck, feeling the tremors that were shuddering through him at being forced to lie still, but he knew his mistress and her ways, and obeyed the silent order.

Zevran was nearby and she could hear his breathing, deep and even, but she had no doubt that he was awake as well, waiting for the thief to be within reach before he moved.

The footsteps stumbled nearer, towards the pack that rested near her head, and Elissa waited until the figure bent down close enough that she could smell the mead on his breath before she elbowed him in the face, her blow connecting with his nose with a satisfying _pop_. She rolled to her feet, dagger drawn and ready. Zevran was already behind him when the thief reeled back, blood gushing, and the assassin quickly threw him to the ground and put a booted foot on his chest.

"Hm. That was almost disappointingly easy," he said thoughtfully when the man made no move to get up, simply lied on his back, clutching his nose and cursing. Zevran readily caught the end of the rope Elissa tossed to him and kicked the prisoner over, tying his hands behind his back. "Well, my friend," he said as he worked, "I must say that whatever you expected to accomplish here—and I do hope you were not overly optimistic, given the circumstances—you certainly chose the wrong targets."

The man chuckled darkly and sniffed, wet and noisy. "So kill me."

Zevran blinked, speechless at the flat reply, delivered free of bravado or swaggering, and he looked at Elissa questioningly, as if unsure what to do.

"Who are you?" Elissa demanded. When the man ignored her and tried to struggle to his feet she sent the rope looping around him with of flick of her wrist and yanked. He hissed in pain at the burns and hit the dirt hard.

"My people are herders," she said, standing over him. "Don't move until I tell you to. I'll ask you once more—who are you?"

He shook his head. "No one."

"No one," she repeated with an edge to her voice, fast loosing patience with this would-be thief. After a year of being reduced to little more than a mercenary in order to collect the coin they needed to keep traveling, Elissa had become somewhat of an expert in the different classes of villainy that plagued Ferelden's back alleyways and lonely roads. She'd been sneered at, mocked, even spit on once—though that fellow's jaw would probably never be the same after Alistair had his say about _that_—but never had she seen such a dead, unconcerned look in the eyes of the aggressor. She was as much at a loss as Zevran.

The thief gave her a grim smile, and behind the curtain of drink and bitterness Elissa saw sadness, gnawing from the inside like a caged animal. She moved forward, trying to examine the man more closely in the firelight. He didn't stand out much in the sea of faceless thieves that crowded her memories, ragged and dirty with the faint air of being in ill health due to eating whatever he could whenever it happened to make itself available. Yet there was something vaguely different about him as well, a look in his eyes that told her a man who wasn't born to this life lurked within him.

It was a look she recognized after a bit of thought, and the recollection tugged at her heartstrings in the oddest way. She'd seen it only once before, in a wavering reflection cast in the small stream at Ostagar, a matter of days after having the only life she had ever known ripped away from her.

Behind the man Zevran shrugged in apparent boredom and drew his dagger, moving to slit the thief's throat, but Elissa made a small gesture with her hand, stopping him.

"No one?" she said again, more gently this time.

He looked up at her, his lip curling, condescending and thick-tongued as though he were speaking to a blissfully ignorant child. "There are a great many no ones in Ferelden these days, my lady."

"What happened to you?" she asked before she could help herself, and the question startled the man as well as Zevran. His dark eyes seemed to smolder in the flickering light before he looked away, refusing to answer.

Zevran tapped the flat of his blade against his thigh, waiting, but Elissa's mind was already made up, even though if asked, she couldn't explain her reasoning. Alistair would think she was crazy, she knew. His hazel eyes would go wide in incredulity and he'd stammer in protest, demanding to know what on earth she could possibly be thinking, as he had when she decided to spare Zevran.

Hopefully, she thought with a touch of self deprecation, she could be as fortunate a second time.

She looked at the intruder again, this time with hard professionalism. He was a big man, standing well over six feet, with a muscular build gone soft from drink. It was impossible to discern anything else, though, since he was so drunk he was weaving in place, even sitting on the ground. "Can you handle a sword?"

"Going to challenge me to even combat, are you?" He sniffed again and made a motion with his shoulder like he was trying to reach up and wipe the blood from his face, before realizing he was still bound by rope. He growled beneath his breath. "You've been reading too many fairy stories, little girl."

Zevran delivered a kick to the small of his back that made him jump and hiss in pain. The assassin was frowning, narrow-eyed and suspicious at the turn this encounter was taking. "Answer her."

The man shot him a steely glare over his shoulder before apparently deciding it was more prudent to avoid provoking the dangerous figure any further. "I served in the town militia," he said, albeit unwillingly. "I can handle myself."

Elissa nodded, considering. As she raced out of Denerim, she had fully intended to run away from all of it, to ignore the orders that sent her to Vigil's Keep to take up the mantle of Warden Commander. The passing days had cooled her sulk and reined in a temper that sometimes got the better of her, allowing her to think clearly. Ferelden needed new Wardens, and, by her own design, there _was _no one else.

She knew perfectly well that the lords in Denerim thought very little of her. They called her the Hero of Ferelden only in public. In private, there were lingering doubts that the youngest pup of Bryce Cousland had it in her to do all her friends had claimed. They saw Sten's enormous frame, Leliana's superior beauty and golden tongue, Alistair's undeniable skill, and Elissa's significance dwindled and shrank until it must have seemed she was simply along for the ride. But the fact that Arl Eamon had been calling loudly for her to take the position more from a desire to get her out of Denerim than any belief she could actually _do_ it was irrelevant, now. It was hers.

Part of her was still angry that this role had been dumped on her without even asking her what she thought of it, made even more furious after the new king oh-so-generously gave her Amaranthine, which should have been returned to her family _anyway_. But another part of her knew, deep down beneath the anger and the hurt, that Alistair needed her there, that _he _believed she was the best person to fill the position, even if no one else did.

It was enough to take her turmoil and center it, to forge it into a weapon that was sharp and focused, transforming her from a bitterly wounded, bratty noble to the formidable woman that emerged when all other options were gone, the one who had united the races of Ferelden under a single banner and driven her sword through the skull of an archdemon.

She'd be Warden Commander, and rebuild the Order, until the Wardens were the most powerful force in all of Ferelden.

Those bastards in Denerim didn't know who they were dealing with.

"I'm not going to kill you," she told the man in front of her, who was still unaware he was the first of Ferelden's newest recruits. She sheathed her dagger, ignoring Zevran's look, which rested somewhere between resignation and disbelief. "I have a different offer, if you're willing to take it. What's your name?"

He looked up, bleary eyed and confused. "Aeryc. Aeryc Kinsey."

…

It was a new kind of experience for Elissa, waking up beneath the early sun. The morning was cold, but not bitterly so, and her blankets were soft and snug, like a finely spun cocoon of warmth that could somehow shut out the rest of the world. For a confused moment she wondered where she was, and why she'd fallen asleep beside the fire instead of inside her tent, but at the sound of Zevran's muttered voice and Aeryc's snarled replies the memories came seeping back, and she stifled a groan and burrowed deeper in her blankets.

She dozed off again, only to wake later to a riot of hungry chirping from the boughs above her. The sun seemed brighter, but still she didn't move, far more exhausted than she should have been. She drifted between wakefulness and the Fade, her mind diving and slipping along a tangle of memories. They swirled and danced in her mind without any structure or purpose, a jumble of images that bled together into a colorful tapestry. Leliana giggling while she plucked a wildflower from the side of the beaten road and put it in Elissa's hair; Wynne looking so wise and learned as she read quietly beside the fire, even though Elissa knew she was reading a smutty romance novel; Zevran and Oghren ribbing each other good-naturedly while they eyed some of the buxom Pearl employees from a shadowed corner. She remembered Alistair on the search for the village of Haven, laughing in the cold winter sun, and from further back in her mind, the look in his eyes in the purple light of dusk when he drew her against him and gently lifted her chin to kiss her for the first time…

Zevran brought her to full wakefulness then by the simple and obnoxious method of yanking her blanket out from under her, sending her rolling out of her comfortable hole and onto a damp ground choked with leaves and twigs.

Elissa promptly made a noise like an angry cat and threw something at him—she wasn't sure of what until she saw him dodge one of her boots and _tsk _at her. "The day wears on and Highever awaits, my poor, lazy _bella_," he said cheerily, quick to sidestep as the second boot followed the first.

Aiden barked and dashed to fetch it, slightly ruining the intended effect.

"It is not like you to sleep so late," Zevran said more seriously, bending down to pick up her hurled footwear for her.

"I know." She yawned, rubbing vigorously at her aching eyes. "I'm just so _tired_. I must have gotten soft, in Denerim."

"You are hardly in danger of growing fat and lazy after a short month of much needed rest," he said, thinking. "I will admit, I begin to grow concerned for your health. We know so little about the impact slaying the archdemon had on you."

"I doubt it's anything so dire. I probably just picked up a bug in that filthy city." She yawned again and began to pull her boots on. "Where's Aeryc?"

Zevran scowled, yet to forgive her for her impulsive mercy. "Emptying the contents of his stomach at the base of a most ill-used tree, as he has been all morning," he said with a touch of disgust. "Sobriety will be hard fought for that one. It may be a kindness just to put him out of his misery. We can bury him here, with a lovely view of the coastline."

"Wow. Tell me what you really think."

"He tried to rob us blind while we slept, my dear. Forgive me if I see no value in such a specimen."

She smirked at him and struggled to her feet, dusting off her backside. "As opposed to someone who took coin to murder me on the road?"

Zevran rolled his eyes in annoyance, only half teasing. "One mistake and no one allows you to forget it." He shook his head. "Suit yourself, Warden, but I have my doubts he will prove overly useful. Particularly in light of his charming demeanor. You are not known for your patience, you know."

The subject of their conversation stumbled their way then, and with a look of pure dislike Zevran shrugged one shoulder and moved to break up the camp. Aeryc looked even worse in the harsh light of the morning than he had the night before, haggard and grey with dark circles under his eyes. When he walked up Elissa was quick to step back and upwind of him. "You need a bath."

"Do I now?" he asked, exhaustion chasing away the bitterness that growled in every syllable the night before. He only sounded tired.

"Yes. My brother doesn't abide slovenliness in his hall, and I'm not one to sit and pretend you don't reek for the rest of the ride. There's a stream a short distance from here. Make some effort to clean yourself up, and when we reach a town we'll see about getting you some new clothes so we can _burn _those."

He didn't protest. "Where are we going, if I'm permitted to ask?"

"To Highever, but for a short time only. We have to press on to the new compound and see what must be done there to get the Order back on its feet."

"The Grey Wardens have a compound outside of Denerim?"

"The new king gifted us with Amaranthine." She left the answer deliberately vague, not wanting to think too much about the daunting task ahead of her just yet. Aeryc unwittingly provided her with the distraction she needed when he snorted, a purely derisive sound that he made no effort to disguise.

"What?"

"New king," he said. "Usurper, more like. They're talking about him from here to Orzammar, and how he stole his throne. Some arrogant child who imagines himself great just because King Maric tumbled a serving wench once. He _murdered _Teyrn Loghain, right in front of our poor queen, and killed Ferelden's only hope just to get his hands on a crown. Now we're just supposed to—"

He didn't get any further than that. Rage swelled in her chest and before reason or logic could get a word in edgewise, Elissa whirled on the wretch and punched him in the face.

_Hard_.

Though she had never before grown quite cocky enough to try and take on a full grown man who probably weighed twice as much as she did, her body had become as hard as tempered steel over the course of the past year, and Aeryc was still mead-sick and stumbling. He dropped like a sack of grain, cursing and rubbing his jaw. Zevran stopped, one hand resting on his hip to study the figure lying in the dust before he looked up at Elissa through his eyelashes without changing his stance, a knowing half smile curling his lip. She shot him a dirty look that conveyed exactly where she'd like him to stuff that smug smile and planted one foot on either side of Aeryc, bending down to grip his collar.

"That _child _is a warrior and a senior Grey Warden of Ferelden," she said, low and deadly serious. "One who spent a year of his life bringing an end to the Blight while _you _moaned and sulked and rolled in your own piss. You show him the proper respect, or I'll skin you myself."

Aeryc blinked and gave his head a shake as if to clear it. "I'll take that bath now."

"I thought you might."

Elissa heaved a sigh once he was out of sight and rubbed her eyes, not particularly wanting to look at Zevran. "I know," she said, gathering up her belongings. "I _know_. That was really stupid."

"I have always believed that violence becomes you, my friend," he said with a muted wave of his hand. "I do find myself curious, however, regarding the trigger for that rather stunning display. Are we _defending _young Alistair now? Because it would not do to be unclear—"

"Oh, shut _up, _Zevran."

…

The terrain grew more rocky and uneven, forcing them to dismount and walk the horses for the remainder of the afternoon. Elissa looked back at Aeryc often, trying to discover another piece to the ever-expanding puzzle he presented her, but he remained silent and withdrawn, nursing what had to be a crippling hangover as he forced one foot in front of the other. A bruise was blooming brilliantly at the curve of his jaw, increasing his already sour appearance, and guilt gnawed at her insides that he had already fallen victim to her foul temper.

She usually didn't have such a difficult time controlling herself. It was everything else, the increasing number of burdens that continued to pile up on her weary shoulders with no end in sight. She'd have to apologize to him, later when they could have a word in private.

Elissa stopped abruptly at the familiar churning of blood somewhere near her midsection, pulling her towards the east. "Uh oh."

Zevran had traveled with her long enough to recognize the signs, and he stopped as well, reaching for the handles of his deadly sharp, poison-coated blades rather than the less impressive long daggers he had been using thus far. "How many?" he asked with a glance back at Aeryc, who looked slightly confused.

"Three," she answered, concentrating. "No… four. I can't get a solid feel for them. They must have a caster with them." She drew her weapons with a sound a frustration. "I don't much like the idea of a magic user blasting us from the safety of the trees when we charge in. I wish Alistair…"

But she wasn't going to finish that thought.

She crouched low, signaling towards the copse of trees that the pull was calling from, and Zevran moved ahead, rapidly and thoroughly disappearing into the vegetation. Elissa tossed Aeryc a sheathed sword that had been strapped to her saddle – a particularly fine weapon she had intended to gift to her brother. It would certainly serve them better here. "Follow me in," she said. "And pay attention."

Aeryc moved no where near as quietly as she did, but she had fought at Alistair's side long enough that she knew how to work around that particular shortcoming. She lowered her voice and motioned him closer, forcing him to bend his head so she could whisper in his ear. "Wait for Zevran's signal."

She left him there, ducking into the shadows of the trees. The darkspawn had settled into the copse, it seemed—she recognized the signs they had been there for some time. Strange monuments and totems dotted the landscape, the trees appearing warped and twisted under the garish ornaments. She revealed herself only long enough to wave Aeryc nearer before once again melding into the shadows, waiting for Zevran to make his move.

It didn't take long. She heard the whistle of the dagger a split second before the hilt was protruding from the base of a hurlock's skull, and when the darkspawn whirled around in confusion she was behind them, blades flashing. Aeryc crashed through the trees, increasing their confusion, and Zevran dropped down into the fight, right behind the emissary, his daggers a blur of motion as he fought to keep the monster too busy to gather a spell. It was an effective ambush, leaving the darkspawn no almost no time to defend themselves, and the genlock she was fighting dropped at her feet within moments.

The air thickened and darkened around her.

Elissa's momentum was stopped utterly when the magic closed in on her, freezing her in place. She could see now the shadow of the fifth, undetected darkspawn coming to her from a wall of darkness, its ghastly laughter rumbling as she hovered a foot off the ground, choking and vulnerable. Zevran saw her, but was helpless to come to her aid, taking on two of the creatures himself, and Aeryc was having far more trouble than he should have been. Her vision wavered, her lungs frozen and useless.

She didn't realize she was hearing the sound of running feet until a newcomer rushed into the fray, sword drawn and ready as he jumped into the fight with a war cry, driving his sword into one of the genlocks closing in on Zevran. The assassin didn't pause long enough for surprise to show—he seized the opportunity the new fighter provided to spin on his heel and throw another dagger. It stuck deeply into the emissary's shoulder, shattering its concentration, and when Elissa hit the ground she wasted no time in gripping her sword and stabbing upward, sinking her blade into the soft flesh of its belly.

Zevran was there then, dropping to his knees beside her. "Elissa?"

"Remind me to recruit a Templar," she choked, and Zevran chuckled in sheer relief.

"Most assuredly. That was slightly more excitement than I prefer so early in the day." He reached out and helped her to her feet. "We must thank our dashing friend, I think. After we assure ourselves that he is not another thief, of course."

Aeryc rolled his shoulder, cursing beneath his breath beside them. "I'm off balance," he said, his voice low and embarrassed by his poor display, faintly bewildered that he was so long out of practice. "I'm a shield warrior."

Elissa sighed. _Of course he is_. "We'll see about getting you one, then." She dug around in the pouch at her belt and pulled out an old mana potion, dumping the contents into the leaves at her feet before handing the empty vial to him.

"Darkspawn blood," she said at his confused look. "One vial. It's your kill—go collect it."

"Can I ask what for?"

"No." She eyed the nasty gash on his arm before handing him a healing potion, as well. "And drink that."

She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she glanced around for the fighter who aided her rescue. He was a short distance away, wiping the blade of his sword clean on the grass.

He was easily one of the most handsome men she'd ever laid eyes on, with black hair that fell casually over his forehead in soft waves, tussled from the fight, and cornflower blue eyes. His features were so perfect they might have seemed almost girlish were it not for the strong chin and various nicks and scars on his face.

"Maker's breath, but you two can move," he said happily when Elissa and Zevran approached him, wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. "I thought I'd lost you good yesterday."

"Who are you?" she asked, crossing her arms, not entirely ready to trust a strange man on the road just yet, even if he had helped them.

"Jaedan Alston, _formerly _of Denerim, I'm hoping."

"Why formerly?"

"Well, I will be if you're going to make me a Grey Warden."

Elissa and Zevran shared a glance. "Come again?" the assassin muttered dryly.

"I served under Sergeant Kylon during the battle of Denerim. I was there when you and the new king rushed Fort Drakon." There was something very much like hero worship shining in his eyes, and Elissa shifted uncomfortably. "I've never seen anything like that. I told myself right there that if we lived through it, that was who I wanted to be. So, here I am."

Aeryc looked at Zevran and Elissa sharply, realization dawning in his eyes. Elissa hadn't bothered to enlighten him just yet on who she and Zevran really were.

Well, he knew now.

"What does Kylon say about you abandoning your post?" she asked Jaedan.

He shrugged. "He was a little miffed at first—you know the Sergeant—or I should say Captain, now. The king promoted him just before I left. He's always hard up for good fighting men and hates it when he has to hand one over to someone else, but I said I wanted to join the Wardens and he just let me go. I've got the proper papers, releasing me from his service and everything."

Elissa smiled to herself, silently thanking Kylon in her mind as she accepted the sealed letter Jaedan handed her with nothing more than a cursory glance at it. "Are you sure you know what you're asking for? Once you become a Grey Warden, there's no turning back."

"Yep," he said with an easy grin. "Look, I've heard the rumors about people who are called to join the Grey Wardens and aren't ever seen again. But they don't always come home when the ride to war, either, do they?" He shrugged. "I'll take my chances, if you'll have me. It'll be a damn sight better than wasting away in Denerim, playing guard at the Gnawed Noble."

Zevran's eyes darted to her momentarily, dancing with barely concealed mirth. _Can we keep him_?

She didn't answer at first, looking the soldier over critically, but he'd already proven he could handle himself, and Elissa was quickly beginning to have her doubts that her first recruit would even survive the Joining. She was a little shocked as the callous thought flitted through her mind, but if the Wardens were to flourish, she had to be practical in this.

She was beginning to develop a grudging new respect for Duncan.

"Aeryc," she called out at last. "Do you still have the vial from that healing potion?"

"I do."

"Give it to our new friend here and tell him what he needs." She turned away, shaking her head as she headed back to the horses. "I guess we get to see what you've got, Jaedan Alston."

Zevran smiled and made to follow, leaning in to mutter teasingly, "Have I ever expressed how endearing I find your penchant for collecting people?"


	3. Life Goes On

**Life Goes On**

.

_**Bloomingtide; Year 9:31**_

_**Highever**_

.

_The memories are shadows_

_Ink on the page_

_And I can't seem to find my way home_

_~ Five Finger Death Punch_

.

.

"Well, that was dumb, wasn't it?" Jaedan asked grimly as he tilted Aeryc's face in the firelight, examining the deep slice that now marred the other man's skin. "Just how many times is one of them going to have to kick your ass before you stop running your mouth, anyway?"

The dagger had barely grazed him and left a clean cut just under the curve of his jaw, but Jaedan knew enough of Zevran after a week in his company to realize that had the elf wished it, he would be preparing Aeryc's body for burial now rather than babysitting him in camp. Having dealt with the alleyways of Denerim for two years, he recognized the fluid, dangerous grace Zevran possessed better than most, and had accordingly done his best to stay out of the elf's way.

Aeryc merely grunted in response, pressing the back of a dirty hand to the wound. Jaedan winced and pulled it away. "Let me teach you an invaluable lesson, Aeryc," he said as he dug through the pack of medical supplies Elissa had bought in town that afternoon. "When a man who has earned his place at the side of the Warden Commander of Ferelden spends his time skulking in shadows and keeping razor-sharp, poisoned daggers on hand, it's generally a good idea to try not to piss him off."

"What are you going on about?"

Jaedan sighed and pressed a clean cloth to the wound, backing away when Aeryc reached up to hold it in place himself. "He's an _assassin_, genius. Tell me again just how you managed to survive on the streets this long?"

Aeryc snorted at that idea. "An assassin. Why? Because he's Antivan?"

"Or maybe because he just gave you the closest shave you're ever going to want again, and I don't think he missed by _accident_."

Aeryc looked as though he wanted to argue, but seemed to think better of it and looked away with a frown. Apparently he had come to the same conclusion about Elissa's rather intimidating shadow.

For a while, the other man remained silent as Jaedan helped him clean and bandage the wound due to the absence of a proper medic to provide the necessary stitches. Elissa had already expressed concern for their lack of a healer, something that apparently hadn't occurred to her until recently. She seemed to have been utterly blindsided in this business of getting the Grey Wardens re-established, spending most of her evenings sidled up with Zevran as they discussed in low tones what they would need to obtain and debating where they were going to get these things. Jaedan had simply assumed they were headed to Highever to request help from her noble brother, but the way Elissa was speaking seemed to indicate otherwise. It had only recently dawned on him that they were making the journey for no other reason than her desire to go home. Not that he could blame her, exactly.

"He's very protective of her."

Aeryc had been quiet enough that the comment startled Jaedan a little. Protective. That was _one_ way to put it. "You were being a prick."

Aeryc's eyes narrowed on him. "Do _you_ think she did everything they claim she did?"

Jaedan heaved another sigh and tossed the bloodied rags into the fire. Aeryc had finally managed to achieve the sobriety Elissa had insisted on if he wanted to remain with them, but it was leaving him churlish. More than once Jaedan had considered breaking his jaw to see if _that _had any effect on his surly attitude. He still hadn't ruled the idea out. "I was _there _for the important parts."

Aeryc continued to look skeptical. "From what I've heard, the archdemon had a hundred warriors from all across Ferelden hacking away at it, and she had a crowd of seasoned fighters surrounding her."

Jaedan frowned at such single-minded stubbornness. "I take it back. You're _still_ being a prick."

"She's a noblewoman that can't have seen more than twenty winters! You don't really believe she killed that thing?"

Jaedan shrugged one shoulder and poked at the fire, growing weary of Aeryc's determined disbelief. Anyone who had spent more than an hour with Elissa could see that she wasn't some little girl playing with wooden swords. He knew women (more than a few) and he knew warriors, and she definitely was one of the latter. In way she carried herself, the ease with which she took charge, even the indefinable way she always seemed aware of her surroundings—Elissa was a woman who was familiar with danger and had learned the hard way how to face it rather than cower away from it.

"The Couslands have never been like the pampered fops at court," he said. "The whole clan has guts, or at least what's left of the clan. It doesn't really matter who killed the thing. _She_ was at the head of the army that took it on—not your hero Loghain. Besides, I _saw_ both of the Grey Wardens when they brought them down after the battle. Lady Anora came pretty damn close to keeping her crown, given the extent of the king's injuries. If you don't think the two of them were at the center of that scrap, then you're a fool."

Aeryc remained quiet for so long that Jaedan finally looked back up at him, wondering what he had managed to say to shut him up. Aeryc was staring at him in surprise rather than disbelief, and after a moment Jaedan realized why. "You didn't even know she was a Cousland, did you?" He shook his head. "Honestly, man, you've got to pull yourself together. I thought everyone knew that by now."

Aeryc seemed have trouble choosing his words. "But… if she's a Cousland, what is she doing here? One of the king's advisors would have jumped on the chance to marry him off to her and give his claim more credibility."

Jaedan grinned. "Have you seen our new monarch?"

"I haven't."

"Well, I have, and he looks like he could cut me into little pieces without half trying. Storms around in a temper more often than not. If the lords in Denerim don't want to interrogate him about why they sent her away, well—I can't call them cowards." He got up and moved over to where his blanket was spread out on the ground, tired of trying to talk to Aeryc. He couldn't quite hold back one last parting shot, however. "What _I_ believe is that someone like Elissa doesn't need protecting. I also believe Zevran would have sliced you to ribbons just now had she not warned him to leave you alone. She knows more of fighting darkspawn than both of us combined, and yes, I _do _believe she walked right up that demon from the Void and shoved her sword into its brain. If you need more than that to fall in line, then I also believe that she should have left you in the clearing where she found you and let your guts provide breakfast to the local wildlife so that you might have been of _some _use." With that he rolled over and tried to sleep, and therefore didn't see the way Aeryc simply stared into the fire, his eyes reflecting the shame that gnawed away at his insides.

…

Elissa stretched her long legs out beneath the table and rested her feet on the stool across from her, thankful to be indoors again. Denerim had spoiled her, she decided, bringing forth the sheltered noble who had never _completely _adjusted to sleeping on the ground and bathing in streams. They didn't have enough coin to stay in one of the rooms the tavern offered for the entire night, but she still intended to at least enjoy a cooked meal and possibly a few strong drinks before returning to camp. The tavern was a cheap one, but the tables were clean and the walls freshly white-washed, and the dogs slumbered in clean straw in the far corner. She had certainly been in worse.

The meal was another pleasant surprise, consisting of an entire roasted chicken and a loaf of freshly baked bread. The moment the food hit the table she felt her ravenous appetite return with a vengeance. She was stuffing her face when Zevran returned, carrying a tankard in hand.

"When I suggested that you try to eat something, I did not particularly mean for you to put forth your best effort to choke yourself," he said as he took the stool across from her, sliding the tankard in her direction. "Never break a fast with a feast, as the saying goes."

Elissa only shrugged and lifted the tankard, then nearly choked anyway when the smell hit her. "Maker's breath! What did you bring me?"

He carefully peeled a chunk of chicken off of the bone and popped it into his mouth. "I merely thought to take the edge off."

"By getting me so drunk I can't find my way back to camp?" She took another whiff and made a face when her stomach started churning. She slid it back towards him. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I can't drink that."

He only nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Perhaps you will listen to Zevran now and see about consulting a healer once we reach Highever?"

"Why? I seem to be getting better." She took another hefty bite of chicken to prove her point. "Maybe my body has just started rejecting alcohol on principle. My desire to get drunk has dimmed some since meeting Aeryc."

"Ah, yes, Aeryc. That reminds me. May I kill him now?"

She sighed and began picking at the loaf of bread, crumbling it between her fingertips. "No, even though I wouldn't mind it so much right now. He's not going to be the last one to say something about Alistair setting me aside. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Speak for yourself, my friend. I have found in my experience that a good, sharp blade always has something to say. It is remarkable how persuasive one can be."

She scowled, her appetite gone as suddenly as it had come. She didn't answer, instead shoving the wooden platter towards Zevran. "Eat your supper."

He chuckled but didn't press the point further. While he ate, Elissa busied herself by pulling the letter from Kylon out of her satchel. She knew that Alistair had planned to seek the sergeant out and name him as the captain of Denerim's guard in a transparent effort to increase the number of people he knew and trusted amidst the crowds of problems he now had to deal with. It seemed he had been successful.

_To Elissa Cousland_

_Commander of the Grey_

_It has recently come to my attention that the Grey Wardens are in need of new recruits. As an extended thank you for your help in the past, I am releasing Jaedan Alston into your service._

_I hope that you realize that in doing so, I am handing over the single best swordsmen at my disposal. I can think of no better candidate to join the ranks of the Grey Wardens in all of Denerim. He will serve you both well and honorably._

_In closing, I feel I must advise that you take the precaution of keeping whatever women who may travel with you within arm's reach while he's about, unless you want a contingent of bastards running through the halls of Vigil's Keep._

_Just a warning._

_Forever in your service,_

_Captain Kylon of Denerim_

Elissa chuckled to herself, ignoring a mild stab of nostalgia as she read through the letter. If she could manage it, she planned never to set foot in Denerim again. It hadn't occurred to her when she raced away from the city that it meant never seeing Kylon again, or Wade and Herren, or even the confused Chanter who had unknowingly provided she and Alistair with an afternoon of smothered snickering while they sat on the Chantry steps and split a loaf of bread, waiting for the rest of their party to finish running personal errands. With a determined shake of her head she brushed the thought away and passed the letter over for Zevran to read.

"Commander?"

It took her a moment to recognize the man standing over her, looking pensive and unsure, his gaze fixed somewhere on the table to avoid looking her in the eye. Aeryc had apparently spent the evening making some effort to better his appearance. His hair was blonder than she had originally thought, and long, tied back at the nape of his neck with a bit of leather. He had shaved, too, revealing a face that was neither handsome nor ugly, just a pleasant sort of ordinary that accentuated his soft brown eyes.

He certainly looked taller when he was clean.

Zevran blinked several times before setting down the parchment in his hand. "Aeryc." He sounded genuinely surprised. "Forgive me. I did not recognize you without the stench."

Aeryc ignored the assassin completely, speaking only to Elissa. Noting the bandage on his neck, Elissa could hardly blame him for that. "We've had a couple of riders wander into camp," he said. "Lesser sons of noble lords, they say. They want to join the Wardens. Jaedan was able to verify they were who they said they were. What would you like us to do with them?"

She leaned back and raised her eyebrows. "And what did you think?"

He hesitated, but Elissa didn't speak, waiting for his opinion. She didn't really know why she wanted it, aside from the simple fact that Aeryc did have some experience with this sort of thing, and unlike Zevran, he was soon to be a Grey Warden himself. She had to begin molding this motley crew into a military order at some point. Right now, Aeryc at least had seniority, if nothing else.

He shifted his weight, considering his answer. "Personally, I think they're going to take a lot of work," he said at last. "Soft hands—both of them. They're more enamored by the name than anything. But they seem eager enough. If we can teach them what end of a sword to hold, they may work out."

Elissa nodded. "Tell them to come back at dawn. I'll look them over then. If I decide to take them on, I'll leave their training to you and Jaedan. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Aye, Commander," he answered with a curt nod, and left she and Zevran to their supper.

She raised her eyebrow at Zevran. He merely grunted and continued eating.

…

Apparently, Elissa thought as they stopped to make camp after the rocky terrain around them gave way to the grasses of Highever, killing an archdemon made you _popular_.

Aside from Aeryc and Jaedan, she'd picked up three more recruits, each one of them seeking her out on their on in hopes of belonging to the band of heroes that had ended the Blight. The thought made her insides squirm uncomfortably, and she wondered how Duncan was able to _do _this for so many years, to take these people with hopes and dreams of glory and pour poison into them with only the vaguest hope they might survive and make themselves useful.

Their stay in Highever would have to be much shorter than she had wanted, since the pressing demand of becoming Warden Commander seemed to be determined to dog her steps, following her across the countryside in a constant reminder that her real place was in Amaranthine. Highever was nothing more than another haven stolen away by the result of her actions, kept just out of reach by the walls of her duty to crown and country.

_Damn you, Alistair_.

She continued to shift back and forth between hating him for doing this to her and missing him so much it seemed she wouldn't be able to stand it at times. She was lost, faking a command she knew next to nothing about and trying to pretend she was accustomed to this level of authority when her experience only boasted keeping a crowd of ragtag adventurers from killing each other. No matter how much Alistair might have needed her to take the position, she couldn't help but feel like she needed _him_ more—needed his easy nature and steadfast support, his way of snapping things into perspective with the infallible humor that had helped her to stay sane when things were at their darkest.

Most times, she knew she had no one to blame for his absence but herself. At others, she indulged in the internal tantrum that childishly cried out that if Loghain and Anora hadn't been such _bastards _she wouldn't have had to make the decision in the first place. Those days were better, leaving her slightly more snappish than usual, but at least free of the brooding that overtook her at times, lost in a dark cloud of her own making while Zevran watched her worriedly.

The ending of the Blight had taken its toll on all of them, the celebrations cut short by the destruction that cut across the land, leaving each of her companions doubting themselves. It was hard to argue that you had saved _anyone_ amidst the sight of so much loss and need. Zevran had been more unaffected than the rest in many ways, able to stay secure in his belief that they had done what they could and couldn't be held accountable for the civil war or the minds of the darkspawn. While his guiltless attitude had earned him varying levels of disgust from Alistair, Wynne and even Leliana at times, Elissa was nothing but grateful that he had chosen to follow her. She needed someone who could shrug off the actions of others as none of his doing and still get a good night's sleep.

When the castle finally appeared in the distance the following morning, Elissa felt the dark clouds break away, and could no more have helped kicking her horse into a gallop and speeding towards the welcome sight the she could have kept the sun from rising. She raced straight through the gates and into the courtyard. The guards dutifully called out the news of her arrival, but Elissa didn't miss the way they rushed down from their posts to surround her in the courtyard, all thought of propriety forgotten. The soldiers of Highever gave themselves to the moment, eager to see its daughter's return.

She spotted Fergus immediately, hurrying out from the main brooch, and she nearly broke her neck in her haste to leap down from her horse, running across the cobbles to throw herself into his arms. "Fergus!"

He caught her in a bear hug, swinging her around the way he had done when they were little. The sound of his familiar laughter was enough to bring tears to her eyes. "Welcome home, little sister."


	4. Far From Home

**Far From Home**

.

_**Bloomingtide; Year 9:31**_

_**Highever**_

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_When everything feels like the movies_

_You bleed just to know you're alive_

_~ Goo Goo Dolls_

.

.

After the infestation of Arl Howe, the castle at Highever was frantically seeking recovery at the hands of the servants and guards that had returned with Fergus. At first he had only strangers to help him—those who could be found in Denerim as well as what few soldiers Alistair could spare. But when the news spread that the true teyrn had taken back Highever, a handful of people that had once served the Couslands had begun to trickle in, those few who had managed to survive Ostagar, or had run the night of the attack to hide with family in the village.

For the most part, Highever had been untouched by Howe's filthy presence. He had harbored no desire to utterly destroy the teyrnir, but to rule it, and while its people would be a long time recovering the taxes stolen from them by the demands his arrogant greed, they were eager for a chance to work at the castle itself. It was good work, as far as employment went, less strenuous than farm work and less degrading than serving in a tavern somewhere, providing maintenance and new clothes once a year. A matter of weeks after Fergus' return, the castle was once again bustling with the sounds of human voices, ringing against the stone in echoing happiness of having survived the Blight and ready to rebuild.

For those who had lived there before, it was much harder.

The scars of Howe's betrayal and subsequent occupation were visible everywhere. Remnants of the fire lingered in a fine black soot that dusted the surface of the rooms that hadn't been cleared out yet and caked in the cracks and crevices of stone throughout. The paintings that had once graced the walls—portraits of the four Couslands, of Fergus and his family, of Elissa at age four, when she had pigtails in her hair and ribbons on her dress, looking serious and bored at the same time—they were all gone. Her father's books—the ones he had spent a lifetime collecting until Highever's library was second only to the one in the royal palace—had been piled up in the courtyard and set ablaze in one appalling act of blind hatred.

Elissa's abhorrence for Howe surged in her veins as she saw the evidence still lying in the open, convinced that no one would have lived with the castle in that state unless they had _wanted _to, choosing to bask in the memory of the horrendous attack as a taste of thin glory.

Fergus had already hired a pair of dwarven stonemasons to inspect the structure. She could hear them muttering to themselves, catching bits of conversation about structural walls and foundation points, and it didn't take much for her to figure out what her brother was doing. She had already noted that the area that had once been the family's quarters was abandoned and sealed tightly against intruders. Her first reaction was anger, that he would tear down the heart of their home without even consulting her, but within a short time she realized that she had no right to berate her brother. She wasn't the one who had to live here.

Fergus was busy most of the time she was in Highever, answering to the continuous demands of a teyrn even without the pall of rebuilding over his head. When he was with her, he was distant and withdrawn, quieter than she had ever seen him and slow to speak even when she asked him a direct question. After only a couple of days, Elissa was forced to acknowledge the painful fact that Zevran had been tried to warn her of when she first decided to come here.

This wasn't home.

Not anymore.

…

One would think, Elissa thought irritably as she made her way down to dinner, that given Fergus' distraction of late, he would be too preoccupied to insist that she stop wearing her regular clothes and dress in a proper gown for dinner.

Apparently not.

She hadn't realized just how long her stride had become after growing accustomed to walking without tight underskirts hampering her gait, but now the confining cloth had her stumbling at every turn until she concentrated on taking small steps to keep from falling flat on her face. Her hair, though it only reached the middle of her back now rather than her waist as it once had, was done properly, but there was no help for her hands. They were worn and calloused, her long, slender fingers marred by thick scar tissue in places and her nails broken down to the quick. Here in her mother's home, she felt absurdly guilty for their appearance, and so kept them hidden in the folds of her skirt.

Aeryc loitered at the base of the stairs, apparently waiting to speak to her. He and Zevran gave her simultaneous questioning looks when she descended. "Don't ask," she growled as she swept past them, feeling like a fool.

Zevran regarded her almost thoughtfully. "I had not realized just how many sweeping curves and intriguing dips were obstructed by loose linen shirts. Ah, my _bella_, if you had just let Leliana have her way in enhancing your inherent charms just once—"

"You still wouldn't have gotten anywhere?" Elissa suggested, raising an eyebrow.

He gave her a deliberately lecherous smile. "Perhaps not, but I might have been motivated to try harder."

She laughed, somehow put at ease by Zevran's familiar baiting. She turned to Aeryc, trying to regain some feel for being a commander despite the ridiculous get up. "You wanted to speak with me?"

"I did." He slid onto the bench beside her and lowered his voice a notch. In the days since the ugly scene outside the tavern, Aeryc had managed almost a complete turn around, deferring to her orders without argument and often taking the initiative in dealing with the other men. His distinct lack of friendliness had turned into something of value for her. Jaedan, while being the best swordsman at her disposal, suffered from an intense desire to be well-liked amongst the new recruits. Aeryc was proving himself to be a capable enough warrior to see to their training, and he couldn't care less what they thought of him. "I was in the village today and heard the news that several Orlesian Grey Wardens passed through here on their way to Denerim."

Elissa swore softly beneath her breath, followed by a long sigh. "They're looking for me, no doubt. I suppose we'd best think about making our way to the Vigil soon." She was proud that the fear she felt didn't make itself known in her voice. While it was perfectly reasonable that the Orlesians had finally crossed the border to answer to the needs of the new Order, she was _certain _they would have a question or two to ask her.

A small, vindictive part of her gloated at the idea of letting Alistair deal with them first.

Aeryc gave her a small, quiet smile—the first one she had ever seen from him. "You'd doubtless be bored and climbing the walls in a week, anyway. Highever's too quiet for a warrior of your nature."

"Warrior?" One of the recruits laughed—Lyman, a young nobleman with entirely too high an opinion of himself. "I think something may be wrong with your eyes, Aeryc."

"They see a Grey Warden." Aeryc's voice was mild, but Elissa caught the small difference in it, as well as the narrowing of his eyes. "As should yours."

Lyman reached out and grabbed her wrist in an ale-dampened hand. "Though truly, Elissa, there's no denying you're a pretty enough wench when you're clean," he said, and laughed loudly at his own jest.

Aeryc moved before she or even Zevran could react, smooth and silent as a cat as he stood and grabbed Lyman, hauling him across the table and dumping him on the floor. His words carried clearly in the suddenly silence that fell over the hall. "You're talking to the Hero of Ferelden and your commanding officer," he said, his fist curled in the other man's shirt. "Apologize, before I beat the sense you lack into your skull myself."

"Yes," Lyman stammered, his shirt front soaked with food and ale both. He wiped his face. "My humblest apologies, my lady. I forgot to whom I spoke."

"You're a fool." Elissa flicked a glance at Aeryc. "See to him."

"Aye, Commander." Aeryc hauled him up and shoved him toward the yard. "There's a good lad. I think you may have just pulled stable duty."

Zevran heaved a sigh after they went, swirling his drink around in his goblet. "One would think I would have learned better than to doubt you by now."

Elissa smiled, trying not to look too pleased with herself as she watched Aeryc shove the boy along. "One would think."

…

In the damp, ancient ruins of a lost city, left rotting and forgotten in a misty maze deep within the Brecilian Forest, Elissa had felt ghosts for the first time. Aside from the common fears of restless spirits trespassing into her room when she was a child, she had spared very little thought to the haunted places that resided in the dark places of the world. Until then, she had never felt the cold, clinging presence of the unseen, or felt the clammy touch of a hand that was not truly there.

The lingering sorrow of those underground catacombs had left their mark on her soul. The sensation of intruding on something deep and hallowed had caused everyone to speak in hushed tones, regretful of even stirring the dust at their feet. The sight of the shiftless, artless forms of the lost, trapped for eternity in the prison of their own unchanging fate, had frightened her in ways the darkspawn could never hope to do.

She had never thought to feel the same in Highever.

The rational part of her mind knew that the ghosts weren't really there, but she could still _feel _them, those tattered remains of human souls left to wander in the Fade, seeking an absolution that would never find them.

As the night closed in and wrapped the castle in a thick coat of utter silence, they reached out to Elissa. Twice she woke up from nightmares she couldn't recall, haunted by the screams of the dying, only to have them break and disappear the moment her eyes opened, leaving the empty silence even heavier than before.

Finally, she gave up hope of trying to sleep and got up. The night was damp and chilly, the light of the full moon providing just enough of a reflection for her to see the way without a torch. She stepped carefully all the same, barefoot despite the cold. She had taken the precaution of getting dressed, but the lonely ache she had woken with refused to leave her and she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to forget. The indistinct light and the wind in the trees cast long, distorted shadows in her path. She imagined she could hear them call to her, murmuring words of regret, pleading for vengeance.

_I tried_, she wanted to tell them. _Please—I tried_. But the death of Arl Howe had served as nothing more than a tiny bandage on a gaping wound. Even as his blood had pooled at her feet, seeping into the cracks of the stone floor of the cellar just as her father's had, she heard the whisper of Fate muttering that it was worthless; nothing in this world or the next would bring her family back to her.

The light seeping beneath the door at the end of the corridor was a soft sign of warmth in the gloom and she was pulled to it like a moth to a flame, far less afraid of whatever living being lurked behind that door than she was of being left along with her own troubling thoughts.

She was surprised to find Fergus, puttering about in the room that had once been her father's study. At the sight of him a flood of relief went through her, the warmth of his familiar figure banishing the shadows. He was alone, which in itself was unusual. Crates were open all around him, and she watched as he carefully tucked away a pair of books into the straw.

"I thought you'd be asleep by now, brat," he said, not needing to turn around to know who would be coming here at this late hour. "You certainly looked exhausted enough when you retired."

Elissa stepped fully into the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. "I couldn't sleep." There didn't seem to be need for more explanation than that. He glanced at her, his eyes making quick note of her attire, but thankfully, he didn't say anything. Elissa had gone back to her regular clothes after the scene with Lyman, determined not to jeopardize what respect she had managed to scrape from the men who followed her by giving them ammunition against her. Her command would be fought for tooth and nail, doubted because of her age and beauty both, and she couldn't risk even the slightest lapse just now.

Yet her resolve wavered when Fergus turned away, sorrow and loss welling in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that perhaps he had wanted, if only for a little while, to pretend that something was the same as it had once been.

She moved forward, glancing into the crates that covered the floor. She saw books and the occasional painting, and in one, she even found a tiny silver figurine of a fairy wearing a crown of roses that her father had brought her from Denerim when she was little. She picked it up, running her fingers over the find dwarven craftsmanship, a depiction so detailed she could feel the petals beneath her fingertips.

"Howe didn't leave much," Fergus said in response to her unspoken question. "This was all I could salvage from the wreckage. I only managed a bauble or two from our rooms, but this one was left untouched. I've wondered why, in the weeks since I came home. Part of me wants to believe that he bore enough regret that he couldn't bring himself to defile Father's study." He sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "More likely he just couldn't get past the lock, I suppose."

"I should have done more." The confession wrenched free against her will, but for a year it had churned beneath the surface, a secret tucked deep in the innermost chambers of her heart. "I should have _stopped _them." But she had been afraid, a little girl lost in the violence of the attack, and she hadn't been strong enough, then.

"Stop it, Elissa." Fergus sounded almost angry.

She couldn't stop the rush of guilt, the need to confess to someone who might really understand rushing from her like a stream. "You told me to protect them. Instead, I ran... I should have died here with them…"

Fergus was on his feet in a flash, his fingers bruising the flesh of her arms. "Stop it!" He pulled her against him, his embrace painful in its desperation, and it wasn't until she had him to lean against that she realized she was sobbing, shuddering in his strong arms like a leaf in the wind. His voice sounded swollen and strange, and Elissa realized in horror that her brother was crying. "I can't… please, don't say those things. You're all I have left."

She wrapped her arms around him, their roles changing as she supported him against his grief when he fell to his knees, his arms around her waist, clinging to her like a lost child clings to its mother. Elissa ran her fingers through his hair, muttering her apologies over and over again, because no matter what she had lost, he had lost more.

Fergus threw his head back and keened, a cry of utter anguish that rang through the silence, and for a moment she imagined she could hear the voices rise up in join his in a chorus of mourning before they fell silent at last, keeping their sorrowful vigil over the two siblings as the clung to each other and wept late into the night.


	5. Warden Commander

**Warden Commander**

.

_**Justinian; Year 9:31**_

_**Highever**_

.

_I would thank you for all you've done_

_Forgive all your mistakes…_

_I'm sorry for blaming you_

_For everything I just couldn't do_

_~ Christina Aguilara_

_._

.

It had been a long, long time since Elissa had been completely alone. Even curled up in her tent at night, she had been surrounded by people and voices for the better part of a year. Laughter, chatter, and the flare of the occasional argument drifted around the sounds of weapons being sharpened, supplies being packed, or the soft footsteps of the night watch. In such a crowded camp there didn't even exist the illusion of privacy, let alone any chance of solitude. Morrigan had certainly tried, but even the reclusive witch couldn't completely avoid them all, often making snide comments in the middle of a conversation or being lured into rounds of biting exchanges with Alistair.

So soon after the Blight, Elissa had enough sense now to at least have Aiden trotting along beside her as she walked the rocky path towards the cliffs, well aware that no place in the kingdom was completely safe from the fleeing darkspawn. For the time being, however, her blood was calm. Whatever darkspawn were lingering in Highever were far away from this place. Aiden darted back and forth in the surf, barking madly at seagulls and getting his nose full of sea water more than once, and she smiled at the tug of familiarity the sight brought with it, a comforting scene from a life that sometimes threatened to fade into a dream.

The journey was not a short one, and by the time Elissa left the beach and traveled up the winding path that led to the summit of the cliffs, the sun was high. She was sweating inside of her armor in the summer heat, wondering again why she was out here.

Elissa knew exactly where Duncan's memorial would someday be built—she was the one who had suggested the place to Alistair—but it would be many months before the new king would be able to get around to fulfilling the promise he had made to the memory of his old mentor. Though nothing remained of Duncan, Alistair was determined that he would have his own marker, a simple statue of a griffon on the northern border, guarding the coastline to the country he had died trying to save.

As it was, Elissa felt more than a little foolish traveling to the place. There was nothing there—nothing tangible for her to pay her respects to. Yet, she felt drawn to site anyway. As she continued to struggle with her new role of Commander of the Grey, she found herself wishing, not for the first time, that he was there to tell her what to do. After a week in Highever, Elissa could no longer put off the duty the beckoned from Vigil's Keep. Even now, her would-be band of warriors was preparing for a dawn departure under Aeryc's strict supervision. The Orlesian Wardens had already completed their visit in Denerim, she had been informed, and would be waiting for her in Amaranthine.

She was pleased to find, when she reached the top, that Fergus had already had someone mark off the area with stones and clear away the scant, twisted vegetation. Carefully she stepped over the border and sat down in the center of the freshly turned earth, closing her eyes. The wind that whipped across the ocean played in her hair, carrying the fresh scent of the sea. For a long time she simply sat and breathed, wondering what it was she had wanted to say now that she was here.

"Hi, Duncan." Not the strongest of openings, maybe, but she felt a little silly talking to the wind and the waves. The simple need to get her insecurities off of her chest where no one else could see her pressed her forward. "I hope you've heard, wherever you are. We managed to stop the Blight. I don't mind telling you, it was a close thing, though." All of a sudden, the words came easier, the simple mention of the hardship she had endured unlocking something in her. "I can't tell you how much I needed you. How much _we _needed you. Whatever plans you had for me, I'm _sure _they didn't include leaving me in charge. I'm not sure what it is you would have wanted me to do. I barely even knew your name before your life's work was handed to me. It doesn't seem fair—to either one of us." She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Alistair took your vengeance for you. He loved you. I'm not sure if you ever knew that." She paused, laughing softly to herself. "Of course you did. He's not exactly the master of subtlety, is he?" The next confession came slowly, leery of being spoken out loud even though there was no one there to hear it. "I hated you." She blew out a long breath. "But, you probably knew that, too."

He had left her parents to die, forced her hand in joining an Order she had no desire to be a part of in exchange for his assistance in saving her life. Alistair, who was so damnably _good_, so sympathetic and secure in his ideals, had looked upon a shady, manipulative man with hero worship in his eyes. It had made no sense, then.

She knew a little better now.

She would never regard Duncan the same way her fellow Warden had, perhaps, but over the course of the Blight, she had at least realized that she couldn't see Duncan the same way because she didn't want to. It was easy to let her hatred spill over to him—to refuse to see the man who had abandoned everything he could have been in the pursuit of one goal. The Elissa who had been dragged out of Highever never could have understood that measure of dedication. This Elissa, the one who had escaped the destruction of Lothering and left the refugees to their own fate in order to continue her mission, who had looked at Teyrn Loghain with cold, clear eyes and ordered his execution, who had the blood of countless people on her hands—she had no choice but to see Duncan as he truly was. A hard, brutally honest man who had, time and again, been forced to weigh the options, and then sacrificed the lives of a few in order to save the lives of many.

"I've done so many things this past year, things I had never imagined myself doing," she said quietly, and for a moment she imagined she could feel his dark eyes on her, the apology she had stubbornly refused to acknowledge when he was alive still lingering in his gaze. "There's so much compromise. So many shades of grey. I guess I just wanted the chance to tell you—I understand now. And… I'm sorry."

She got up slowly, stretching, and gave Aiden an affectionate pat before he dashed down the road, eager to be back on the beach for the long trek back to the castle. For the first time since she had left Denerim, Elissa felt calm and focused. "Rest well in the Maker's light, Commander. Your work is done. The Order is my burden now."

She started back down the path after her mabari, feeling lighter as she ran her options through her mind, busily sifting through allies and acquaintances to determine what advantages she had at her disposal, and what would need to be done to secure the rest.

She had an Order to rebuild.

…

"Are you sure you won't stay?"

Elissa shook her head at the question for the tenth time that morning, sincerely regretful that she could not remain in Highever for at least a little longer. Something had changed between her and Fergus after the night in the study. Although she and her brother had always been fond of each other, there was enough of a difference in age, as well as the separate expectations in their futures, that had kept them from being close. Shared tragedy was slowly bringing them together.

"I have to. The Orlesians are already there ahead of me, and if a Fereldan commander doesn't get there soon, the people are going to start grumbling. Loudly."

"You're always welcome to come back home."

She smiled. "I know. But the Grey Wardens don't have anyone else. I have to go. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, of course not." Apparently Fergus' sarcasm had been unaffected by the events of the last year. "You're only riding off to deal with the darkspawn plague and take control of an arling of insurrectionists. I shan't lose any sleep over it."

"We've already been assured that Howe was working on his own. None of the lords of Amaranthine had any idea what he was up to."

"So your vassals are impossibly stupid. _Much _better."

She laughed and kissed his cheek. "I'll see you for Satinalia, Fergus."

The sky was a soft blend of purple and pink, dotted here and there with gauzy white clouds that would soon disappear under the promise of summer heat. Already the morning was warm, cloaks left draped over the backs of the saddles as the group milled around in the yard, getting ready to depart.

Jaedan rubbed bleary eyes and yawned. "I hope you're not _too_ fond of these dawn departures."

Elissa grinned at him as she rose up and swung into her saddle. "You'd best get used to it."

He sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say that."

Zevran, as equally fond of early hours as Jaedan, rolled his eyes as he nudged his horse to take the spot next to her. "I am forced to wonder of it would have been such a tragedy to wait until later this morning? I sincerely doubt that Vigil's Keep has anywhere important to be, for all this rush."

"Did I disrupt a lazy morning with a soft companion?"

"No. Well, yes. But my concern is for you, my friend. You are still looking a bit pale. I wish you would not push yourself so hard. If you do not get well soon, you will begin to lose all those luscious curves that inspire such loyalty in me."

"And _that _would be a tragedy."

Jaedan was careful to keep the comment low enough that the others didn't hear, but still Elissa shot him a dark look. "You've gotten too comfortable with my brother's serving women, I think. Save your flattery for women who stand to make some silver out of it."

He grinned, completely unabashed. "Sorry. Habit." Elissa continued to look at him, cool and unsmiling, until he dropped his eyes. "Apologies, Commander."

Elissa checked a sigh and motioned to Aeryc to join her. "You ride up front with me. We'll need to keep discipline on this journey. It's time I formally displayed that you have some authority." He didn't say anything, simply looked at her, and it was with some irritation that she asked, "What is it?"

"I'm just surprised I seem to have made some sort of impression. I thought you didn't care for me much."

"You're a prick."

He paused, nonplussed. "You really have a way with words, you realize."

She shrugged. "But, the men respect you. Or they fear you. Either one makes you useful enough to me. You're smart, and you can handle yourself better than most in a fight, now that you've sobered up some. If you can rid your soul of whatever anger it is that makes you this way, you, more than any of the other's with us, have the potential to be a great Warden." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Whether or not you _become_ one? That's entirely up to you."

…

"Well, this place has seen better days, hasn't it?"

Elissa didn't answer Jaedan's muttered comment, still concentrating on keeping her mask firmly in place at the sight of Vigil's Keep. She had been fourteen the last time she visited this place, come for a week long summer visit which she spent flirting with Thomas and strictly avoiding Nathaniel, whose broody nature and condescending glances made her feel young and foolish at the best of times.

The keep had since fallen into obvious disrepair. The yard was a mess, the cobbled path that had once led to the main entrance nearly invisible beneath layers of mud and missing stones in places, making it too dangerous to ride their horses in. The others followed Elissa's lead when she dismounted, looking warily around at the shabby outbuildings and sheds. Though the main keep itself seemed solid enough, many of the towers appeared to have been neglected over the years.

"Doesn't look very stable, does it?" Elissa asked, shading her eyes as she looked up at the tallest tower, which seemed, very faintly, to be leaning to one side.

Zevran grunted. "Let us just say that should you choose to house me in one of those decrepit piles of stone, I will have to wonder why you wish to be rid of me."

Elissa sighed and wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt, feeling sweaty and grimy from the long journey and more than ready for a bath. Though the rest of the fortress seemed to have suffered, she doubted that Howe would have allowed his own luxury to be compromised in any way. She had higher hopes for the main keep.

At their approach, a crowd of armored men began to emerge from the keep, led by two older men who displayed the easy confidence of authority. Elissa paused and waited for them to reach her, giving herself a chance to look them both over. One was a Warden—the pull in her middle was nearly overwhelming, indicating a Taint far stronger than her own in his blood. The care lines that marred his features and the salt and pepper in his dark brown hair made it safe to assume he had been a Warden for some time—one of the Orlesians.

The other bore no signs of the Taint, search as she might. It was he who spoke first when they reached her, offering her a respectful nod of his head. "Warden Commander. I am Varel, seneschal of Vigil's Keep. We've been expecting you. This is Warden Tomlin from Orlais."

The man in question bowed respectfully, but his eyes were heavy and guarded, watching her with more than simple curiosity. There may have been an immediate relationship there due to the Taint that coursed through them, but it was a long way from trust.

Elissa nodded, determined to make a decent impression on a veteran such as him. "Greetings, Brother."

"And to you, Sister." Despite knowing that he was from Orlais, the rolling accent she would always associate with Leliana sounded strange coming from such a large, intimidating figure. "We understand that you had very little time to learn much of us before you were forced to face a Blight. Most impressive. I have been sent to remedy that. I brought with me records and histories that will prove necessary to your command. All of my knowledge is at your disposal."

"And I'm grateful for it. How long will you be able to remain with us?"

"We have been reassigned here by the First Warden himself, Commander. We serve Ferelden now."

"I see." She hid her surprise rather well, considering. "Well and good then. You're _most_ welcome."

Varel smiled slightly at the relief she couldn't quite disguise in her tone. "You and your men must be hungry. We at the keep have already learned the dangers of keeping a Grey Warden from his meal. We have your personal rooms ready for you, Commander. I hope that you will forgive… well… I was led to understand that you would not wish to stay in the lord's chamber here. If that's not true, however, I can rectify the arrangements—"

"That's not necessary," Elissa said quickly.

It was Varel's turn to look relieved. "Allow me to show you to your rooms, then."

"Ah, yes," Zevran muttered beneath his breath. "Home shit home."

Elissa elbowed him in the ribs before she followed them up the ramp to the gate. "These men have been with me for some weeks." She spoke to Tomlin, though Varel already seemed to know more about the Wardens than she would have thought allowed. "I want to see to the Joining as soon as possible. Do we have everything we require for the ritual?"

"We do, Commander, if your troops have their vials. The Circle was generous enough to allow a pair of their mages to accompany us, until you are able to recruit some of your own. We can begin at dusk."

She had been expecting more of an argument. Instead, she nodded. "See to it, then."

Tomlin gestured to one of his men, assumingly to inform the mages. "There's another matter that requires your immediate attention, I'm afraid."

"How immediate?"

Varel answered for him. "We've two prisoners in the dungeon, waiting for you to decide what's to be done with them. They've been here for some days."

Elissa glanced at him, confused. "As seneschal you have full authority to administer justice in my absence."

"Under any other circumstance, I would agree. But these two present… unusual cases. I think you should speak to them first."

…

Damn it all, why did it _smell _so funny down here?

Anders shifted on the rotting cot, watching the shimmering lights emerge from his fingertips and float up to the ceiling, creating distorted shadows across the walls of the dank little cell. They didn't illuminate much—mostly stone, stone, and more stone. And maybe an occasional glimpse of the mysterious growth in the corner, which he devoutly hoped was mold.

For three days he had been down here, left to do nothing more than count the cracks in the ceiling and plot his escape. At least he thought of it as plotting.

Fantastical daydreaming might have been nearer the mark.

They had left his magic in tact, which could have been an oversight, but more probably was the simple and disturbing thought that they weren't very worried about it. The Grey Wardens had been known to take Templars before this, if the rumors about the new king could be believed. Maybe he had begun a new fashion in Grey Wardening—mage-killing darkspawn hunters.

_There _was a pleasant thought.

He weighed the possibilities in his mind, a process that had become more of a ritual in his day than anything productive. He hadn't yet stooped to murder in his numerous escapes, and the idea made him squirm uncomfortably. He was a healer, not a killer. He could probably overtake the guard who was sent to feed them without much of a struggle. There was nothing even remotely Templar-ish about _him_. But then there was the yard to contend with, and a dozen Grey Wardens. He knew enough about the Order to realize they were smarter than your average Templar. Getting past would be difficult, and if things did come to a fight, it was bound to draw notice. Chantry notice. Royal notice. All kinds of notice he didn't need.

So, running for it was out. He supposed instead he could…

He could lie here and make twinkly lights.

He sighed and glanced over at his fellow prisoner. Nathaniel was lying on a cot on the other side of the cell, his back turned to him. Anders had never seen anyone so adept at brooding. For two days, Nathaniel had said barely a word, curled up in the dark with his hostility radiating off of him in waves. He refused to eat, or speak, or move too much, for that matter. He had been doing his best to ignore the mage since his capture.

Not that Anders planned to make it easy for him. "I heard a story once about the tactics sometimes used during Orlesian occupation. They would often put prisoners of war down in these little holes and starve them or drop things down on them until they went insane. Stark raving. It made it easier to wring confessions out of them. Grim thought, isn't it?" He flicked his fingers, increasing the number of wisps into a stream, washing the tiny space in soft blue light. "Of course, it's also likely that they've simply forgotten about us. Which is just depressing. I'd rather think of my starvation as a clever ploy than a matter of oversight, wouldn't you? It's insulting."

"Do you ever shut up?"

"We're stuck in a _hole in the ground_ in the _dark_. You need quiet, too? I didn't realize brooding took so much concentration."

Nothing. Talking to Nathaniel was about as exciting as conversing with a sack of rocks.

Which was why he could be forgiven for being startled into falling off of his cot when rock-boy suddenly leapt to his feet, hissing like an angry cat. The room went instantly dark, his magic disrupted by the jolt. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light cast by the open door a length of stairs above them, and by then a torch was lit, stinging his eyes. He rubbed them, grumbling, and looked up to find a woman standing over him. Her hands were on her hips and her eyes narrowed. Since Anders didn't usually make it a habit to meet members of the fairer sex on his hands and knees, he scrambled back up, but she didn't even seem to notice his presence, her gaze fixed on Nathaniel.

"What are _you _doing here?" Her skin, which had hinted at pale around her eyes and mouth, turned a shade which could only be described as ghostly.

"Elissa." Nathaniel's hatred warmed every syllable. Anders looked nervously back and forth between them, wondering what kind of feud he had managed to stumble into. "Come to finish the job now that the wretched king has given you my family's lands?"

_This _was the new arlessa? The woman was not the pampered noble of Anders' imaginings, but a warrior, standing ramrod straight in her chainmail, her twin swords glinting in the flickering light. She took Nathaniel's menace without a hint of fear, but Anders was an accomplished spirit healer, and it didn't take long for him to realize there was something very wrong. She was weak—far weaker than shock would account for. He felt his eyes narrow as he considered her. She had obviously been ill for some time, but he could sense none of the black lines in her aura that would indicate something viral. He would need to be able to examine her to be certain just what was wrong with her.

Not that he expected to live that long. Ill or not, as he watched the two nobles stare each other down, Anders wasn't certain which one he would put his money on if it came down to a brawl.

"Your father was a murderer." If he had thought Nathaniel was hostile, the cold look in her eyes made him shudder. "He slaughtered my family and aided Loghain in plunging his country into civil war."

"You're family was going to sell us to the Orlesians! Bryce never made his friendly associations with Orlesian nobility a secret."

"You _know _better. My father's primary concern was always for the well-being of this country. It's just a lie spread by Rendon to try to weasel his way out of justice."

"Very convincing, coming from the woman who has benefited the most from his demise. The Hero of Ferelden, they call you."

Elissa threw her hands in the air in exasperation. "Believe whatever you wish. I've nothing to prove to one of your ilk. I'll see you hang."

Nathaniel laughed, cold and mirthless. "You've taken everything from me. The Howes are pariahs now, those of us who are left. What worth is my life, that you would try to hold it against me?" As calmly as someone lying down for an afternoon nap, he returned to his cot and gave all them his back.

Elissa was visibly fighting for control. "And what of you, mage?" she asked, turning those ice blue eyes his way. Anders did his best not to cringe. "They tell me that you were running from the Circle Tower when the Templars caught you. They're all dead now."

Anders had thought to pacify this formidable woman with a bit of wit and maybe a heavy dose of charm, but at her words his annoyance with this entire ridiculous situation sparked. "I didn't kill those blasted Templars! It was the darkspawn. They caught us on the road."

She tilted her head, suddenly curious. "And you lived?"

He crossed his arms. "I can do a bit more than make pretty lights, you know."

"I see." She turned to the big, frowny Warden who had first found him and dragged him here. "Has he shown any symptoms?"

"None." The other Warden was watching him now, as well, and with far too much interest. "It was no small pack of darkspawn he encountered, either. The signs indicated a group of at least ten."

He wasn't sure what they were talking about, but he was sure he didn't like it. Elissa was looking at him again. "What do you plan to do now?" she asked.

"I just don't want to be a part of the Circle. If you send for the Templars, I'll just run away again. Do you know what they do to mages who end up keeping company with dead Templars? I probably won't even make it back."

She remained perfectly calm during his speech. "I asked what you planned to do."

She was watching him expectantly, a hesitant sort of understanding in her eyes, and something in his mind clicked. The Grey Wardens were in search of new recruits—they would be hard pressed to wrench any mages out of the iron grip of the Chantry. They held the Right of Conscription, and the bloody_ king _would side with them no matter what. He would be safe from the Circle, and once he was freed, he would have the time and space he needed to plan his real escape. "I… ah… whatever you tell me to do?"

She smiled, a bit of warmth breaking through the icy exterior. She was actually quite pretty. "Good answer."

"Commander?" The Orlesian stepped forward. "A word, if you please?"

Anders leaned against the bars of the cell so heavily that it hurt a little, straining to hear anything of their conversation. Elissa listened for a while before she began shaking her head angrily, growling her responses, but still she kept enough control of her voice that he could catch only a word or two of their conversation. He thought he heard something about "Commander" and "necessity" and "misunderstanding"—nothing that sounded like it concerned him at all. He glanced back at Nathaniel. The man's back was still turned, but he was tense as a bowstring on his cot, listening just as closely.

Finally, Elissa rubbed her eyes in defeat and came back to the cell door. She didn't look directly at either of them. "Consider yourselves conscripted. Both of you."

Nathaniel was on his feet in a flash, throwing himself against the bars of the cell like a caged beast. "No! You can't do this!"

Now she did look at him, staring him down like a rider stares down a wild horse, fighting for dominance. "Tomlin, Varel—get them upstairs. The others are waiting."


	6. Joining

**Joining**

.

_**Justinian; Year 9:31**_

_**Vigil's Keep**_

.

_Madness is the gift that has been given to me_

_~ Disturbed_

.

.

Nathaniel wasn't going to come quietly.

But then, Elissa hadn't really expected him to. She was following well behind the rest of the crowd, watching him as closely as her distance allowed as the guards dragged him towards the main keep. He slumped in their arms, his feet nearly dragging, portraying the very picture of a resigned man accepting his fate.

She wasn't buying it.

Even so, it happened so quickly she could hardly blame Tomlin for losing his hold on the prisoner. One moment Nathaniel was being hauled through the front doors, and the next he was gripping his captor's arms for leverage just before both of his feet left the floor and he rolled over their shoulders, landing gracefully behind them before running for the yard. Elissa shook her head and swore beneath her breath as she ran to cut him off. Nathaniel barely slowed, widening his path only slightly as though to go around her, clearly not anticipating the possibility that she would try to physically stop him. She got a hold on his arm and threw him off balance just long enough for Elissa to slam her elbow into his throat and nose in rapid succession. By the time the others reached them, Nathaniel was on his stomach, her knee driving into his back.

"You're not getting away that easily, Nathaniel," she said before looking up at Tomlin and Aeryc, glad to hand the man over to them. He was still considerably stronger than she was, and once his daze wore off, it would be impossible for her to keep her hold on him. "He's quicker than I remember."

"So I see." Tomlin hauled Nathaniel back to his feet, wrenching his arms behind his back so roughly that Elissa felt herself wince. The Grey Warden was obviously less than happy at being made to look foolish in front of his men. "Where did he expect to go, I wonder?"

She suspected Nathaniel's real plan was to be cut down as he tried to flee. She didn't fool herself into believing he viewed being a Grey Warden as a preferable option to death. But if that was his wish, he was going to be left sorely disappointed. Not only would none of the Wardens dare to cut him down without her express consent, but they would be hesitant to pointlessly kill a man with so much potential in him. His demonstration of skill only strengthened their resolve.

The Orlesians were apparently very familiar with forcing men to their Joining, since none of them looked particularly disturbed as Nathaniel writhed and twisted in Tomlin's hold, spitting the foulest oaths he knew as blood ran down his face unchecked, gushing from the blow to his nose. His glare on her was filled with such hatred she had to order her body not to recoil from it. "And you're still the same frothing hellcat you always were. Your mother would be _so_ proud to see you now."

For a moment, her vision flashed red, all noise from the yard drowned out by the rushing of her blood in her ears, and without realizing it, her hand gripped the handle of her dagger. He was smirking at her, his eyes narrowed, looking at her like so much dirt beneath his boots. Her rage pounded in her temples, making it hard to think. He was goading her, that much was obvious, and Elissa would be damned before she gave him what he wanted. Still, it took a wrench of will to pry her hand away from her weapon. "Nice try, Nathaniel, but I won't make you a martyr. You won't meet your justification at my hand."

Zevran stepped up beside her, laying a soothing hand on her arm. Elissa assumed he had simply been waiting to see her reaction before intervening. "Come, _bella_—there are others to ensure he will not try to escape again."

Nathaniel sneered at the cocky look Zevran shot him. "What are you, her lapdog?"

Zevran merely smiled. "Ah, but I should warn you, I am not easily goaded, my wily friend." He spread his arms and gave him a graceful bow. "Zevran Arainai at your service. Or rather, at Elissa's service, as the case may be. She has instructed that you will undergo the Joining." Before Nathaniel could answer, one of Zevran's hands curled into a fist and clipped Nathaniel just under the jaw. He slumped in his captor's arms, unconscious. "And truly, whether you become a Warden or choke in the process is of little difference to me."

…

Elissa thought she had never felt so much distrust and hostility centered in one area, or experienced a room crowded with eleven people achieve such complete silence. Her seven recruits looked horrified as she explained the process of the Joining, with varying levels of fear and disgust in their eyes as they stared at the chalice that sat on the desk.

Her assassin leaned in the window frame in a corner, looking grim as he watched the proceedings. Elissa had already warned Zevran that the recruits would either leave this room as Grey Wardens, or not at all. Although Tomlin had disapproved of Zevran witnessing the ritual, Elissa was adamant. Warden or not, Zevran was risking his life in the fight against the darkspawn just as much as the rest of them were. She refused to let him put himself in unnecessary danger because of secrets and oaths that she knew he would gladly take to his grave, if she asked it of him.

"Know this," she said last, letting her gaze fall on each of the waiting recruits in turn. "The Order of Grey Wardens is a brotherhood. We work together or we die. There is no room for your issues, your anger, or your vendettas. If you can't remember that, the Order has no use for you."

She was careful not to look only at Nathaniel as she said it, but the shift of eyes in the room told her that everyone knew who she spoke to. He was slumped beside Aeryc, experiencing the ritual like a man in a dream who is silently praying to wake up. Elissa had to fight back her temper as she studied him, looking so pale and broken. His resignation disgusted her more than the anger, his droopy eyes and expressionless mask reminding her too vividly of his father.

Elissa had not experienced the urge to kill someone so strongly since the death of Arl Howe. Yet Tomlin had unexpectedly spoken for him, arguing that Nathaniel had been away for years, and therefore had heard only scattered accounts of what had really happened that night in Highever.

She was inclined to disagree. She knew him to be highly intelligent, almost smug in his dealings with others, secure in his noble heritage and handsome features. It stood to reason he had grown into a man exactly like his father, ambitious to the point of treason and betrayal.

Despite her anger, Tomlin's words had sparked just enough doubt in her that she had agreed to the Joining. If he really didn't know the depths to which his family had sunk… she wouldn't risk killing another innocent. Not even if he was a Howe. Putting him through the Joining was little more than an excuse, leaving his fate in the hands of the Maker in order to keep her hands clean of his blood should he die.

With no objections from her men, Elissa nodded and stepped back towards the waiting chalice. The smell emitting from it made her stomach turn, but she tamped down the wave of nausea and lifted the dreaded cup. She was startled to find it warm to the touch. For all her reasoning, she had expected it to be ice cold. "Tomlin, if you would?"

He nodded. "Join us, Brothers and Sisters…"

The words sounded strange to her. In her mind it would always be Alistair's voice that spoke the words before the Joining, a moment that was seared into her soul as surely as the Taint in her blood. With the Blight ended, she had no idea what visions or pain the new members would suffer, but still she couldn't quite dismiss a twist of sympathy for them beneath the carefully constructed calm. Her own Joining was not something she liked to remember.

Aeryc stepped forward and took the cup without hesitation. His breath was coming hard, shivering on every exhale and his face was as white as fresh cream, but he was ready to see it done, one way or another. If he didn't become a Warden, he very well may have welcomed death as the only alternative left to him. Either way, something had shifted within her first recruit, a nearly tangible sensation that forced him to either change or die. He could no longer stand whatever limbo he had been living in.

Within a few seconds, he collapsed to the floor, unconscious. Tomlin was quick to move to his side, checking him carefully. At length, he nodded, satisfied. "He'll live."

She wasn't as relieved or surprised as she had thought she would be. Somewhere deep down, she realized that she had expected Aeryc to survive. It was a dangerous assumption, she knew, but one that she was grateful not to have been mistaken about.

Nathaniel eyed her warily, his grey eyes unreadable. He took the cup, but made no move to drink, instead studying the crimson liquid with an almost bored expression. She could only guess at what thoughts were flashing through his mind, not the last of which probably involved throwing the chalice back in her face. Finally, he looked up. "Why?"

She hadn't been expecting the question; it caught her off guard. With a little sigh, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow at him. "You think I should just set you free?"

He smirked. "I came here to kill you. Do that and you may not catch me next time."

She shrugged. "You're skilled. Intelligent. It's reason enough to see if you survive. Ferelden needs Grey Wardens. I'd hand that cup to the Lord of the Black City himself if he was stupid enough to come here and get caught."

"And what use do you have for a Warden who wants you dead?"

It was Elissa's turn to smirk. "Most of my companions have wanted me dead at one point or another. You'll fit right in."

He watched her a moment longer before he lifted the chalice and drank, nearly flinging the cup back into her hands as a kind of challenge. When he fell to the ground, Elissa knew with cold certainty that he would live, as well.

The next, Symore, one of the young noblemen, was not so fortunate. She recognized the signs immediately—the way he clutched at his throat, his eyes wild and terrified just before they went utterly blank. When he fell, writhing in agony, she knelt beside him, her heart heavy as she watched the life leak out of him. "I'm sorry," she whispered, though she doubted he heard her. He went still, his eyes still wide with the horror he had died in, and all Elissa could think was how young he looked, lying there. He couldn't have been more than eighteen.

She shook the thought off. There was nothing to do but move on. "Lyman."

Lyman stared at Symore in horrified fascination. When she approached, he began to back up, his mouth moving soundlessly in denial. Elissa's stomach dropped, realizing what was going to happen, even if the young nobleman didn't fully understand. She steeled herself and grit her teeth, matching Lyman's hesitant steps.

Zevran saw the motion and started forward, but Elissa forestalled him with a look, her hand hidden by the chalice tight on the hilt of her dagger. This was her duty—she wouldn't let Zevran shoulder the burden for her. "Don't run." She kept her voice as calm as she possibly could, startled by the cold ring of command in it when her throat was dry and her was heart racing. Lyman backed up, his muscles tensed, preparing to flee. She set the chalice down, revealing her ready hand. "Don't run," she said again with more force.

Tomlin had already moved to block the door. Lyman saw himself surrounded, and rage contorted his features as he reached for his weapon. Elissa was faster, drawing her long dagger and blocking the clumsy attack. He was inexperienced and slow—Elissa was able to keep it mercifully brief. "I'm _sorry_, Lyman," she whispered into his dimming, horrified eyes as her dagger cleanly slid in between his ribs. It had seemed like such a ridiculous thing for Duncan to utter as Jory's life blood pulsed out over his hands, but it was all she could think to say. She was quaking inside as she drew her weapon back and saw the blood staining her own hands, the reality of what she had become crashing down around her.

With a shake of her head, she wiped her dagger clean and sheathed it. "Get on with it."

…

The twilight shadows stretched across the rugs, falling softly over the forms of the men who were still trapped by the effects of the Joining. Elissa sat quietly as the room dimmed and cooled around her, refusing the offer to light any candles. There, in the soothing purple light of the setting sun, they looked like they were sleeping instead of battling terrible visions as the potion seared its way through their veins, transforming them.

She had four new Wardens—a merciful Joining, all things considered. Jaedan had proven his worth many times in the brief time she had known him, and Anders would prove exceptionally useful, given his background in healing. Nathaniel…

She still wasn't sure what to do with Nathaniel.

She had already instructed Zevran to watch him, still convinced he would either try to run or kill them all the moment the opportunity presented itself. Whatever his plans were, she trusted that Zevran could outmaneuver him.

"You have been very quiet."

Elissa's heavy thoughts collapsed in on themselves at the soft words. She looked over at Zevran, still lounging in the window, and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just thinking."

"Perhaps you are wondering how long these men plan to lounge about on your rather expensive floor? It is a curiosity that had admittedly crossed my mind more than once."

She laughed quietly. "I honestly have no idea. The only Joining I've ever been through was my own. All I know is that Duncan was waiting when I woke up. You can't know how frightening the whole experience is, Zevran. The least I can do is be here."

"As you wish, then." He was quiet for a while. Elissa was just about to tell him it wasn't necessary for him to wait up with her when he turned back to her. "You warned him not to run."

A chill wrapped around her heart, and she looked distastefully at her now-clean hands. "I don't suppose I have any business getting upset over it, after the year we've just been through. But I don't understand how Duncan was able to do this. Lyman was just frightened. I doubt he even understood what was happening."

"No? When you warned _me _not to move, I heeded the advice." He gave her a small smile when she had no retort that logic. "You are forged of heart and steel, _bella_. That is not something that all of us can boast, and nothing to be ashamed of. Do you think that your Duncan did not mourn every soul that fell at his feet?"

She laughed again, but there was no humor in it. "I don't think I knew much about Duncan at all, to be honest."

A low groan coming from Aeryc interrupted them. Elissa got to her feet, going over to kneel beside him as he stirred. When his eyes cracked open, she offered him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. "How do you feel?"

One hand stayed at his head as he sat up, the other planted heavily on the ground to keep himself from falling over. "I'm fine."

Elissa couldn't help the smile that crossed her lips. "Liar."

Beside him, Anders began to stir. He gave a sound of pure misery, one hand going to cover his eyes as though he had a splitting headache. "Maker's mercy. I wasn't even this hung over after that thing with the dwarf and the Antivan Acrobats." He opened his eyes to find Elissa hovering over him and immediately slammed them shut again. "Oh. Right."

Nathaniel didn't make a sound as he and Jaedan sat up, huddled up and deep in thought, but Jaedan got to his feet, stumbling for a moment before he caught himself on the edge of the desk. She went over to him, noting the hard set to his shoulders as he fought to steady himself.

"You killed him in cold blood." Even as weak and sick as he was, the disapproval in his tone bordered on menacing, and he refused to look at her.

Elissa ignored the way the words stung, crossing her arms. "I've killed a lot of people in cold blood."

"That, I have no doubt of." He was quiet, still fighting for control. "I _am_ wondering how many of them actually asked for it, now."

To her surprise, Aeryc spoke before she could formulate a reply. "What exactly did you think you were getting into?" He shook his head as though he couldn't believe Jaedan's stupidity. "The Grey Wardens have always stated that they do whatever they must. It's hardly their fault if you romanticized that notion somehow. Most of us gathered the meaning behind it quickly enough."

Jaedan's hands tightened into fists on the smooth surface, but he finally glanced her way, his impossibly blue eyes flashing with something she didn't quite recognize before they softened marginally. "True enough, I suppose." He heaved a sigh, pushing a hand through his hair. Elissa was struck again by just how good-looking he was, even glaring at her. "I just—I thought I had prepared myself for everything. Apparently, I was wrong."

"I took no pleasure in what had to be done." She didn't understand why she was trying to explain herself to him, but suddenly it seemed important that she had Jaedan's respect. She remembered feeling the same way when she had first met Alistair, measuring herself against someone who was so inherently decent that she wanted him to at least think well of her, even if they didn't always see eye to eye.

The thought was not a comforting one.

"Can someone help me up, please?" Ander's peevish request cut through the silence. "Glad as I am that we're all friends again, I'd like to go find somewhere to throw up and pass out now."

Aeryc hauled the mage to his feet, but his eyes were on Elissa. "Are you sure _you're _all right, Commander? You're looking pale."

"I'm just tired, I think," she said, but at that moment, the ground gave a violent lurch. Against a gathering swirl of black that obstructed her vision she saw Zevran leap up from the window with a soft curse. She felt Jaedan's arms keep her from hitting the floor as she fainted dead away.


	7. Good News

**Good News**

**.**

_**Cloudreach; Year 9:31**_

_**Two days outside of Denerim**_

_._

_Familiarity breeds contempt—and children. _

_~Mark Twain_

.

.

Elissa was sick.

Though colds and sniffles were nothing new to the little band, this was something more serious than that, and it had gone on for almost two weeks. Her appetite had fled completely, barely allowing her to occasionally nibble on a bit of dry bread before it turned on her. That would have been a warning sign in anyone, especially someone as active as she was, but for a Grey Warden, it had to mean something horrible. She was lethargic, as well, a condition that she passed off as a result of not eating. She had begun sleeping late in the mornings, not stirring until one of her companions woke her, and she often fell into fits of brooding as the day went on, so lost in her shifting moods that it often took more than one try from her friends to get her attention.

She was frustrated by her weakness and by the fact that she had no one to go to about her concerns. Wynne, though still perfectly willing to act as her healer, was visibly upset with her for the way the Landsmeet had gone, and for the repercussions that followed. Elissa knew that if she didn't begin to improve before reaching Denerim, she would have no other choice but to go her and ask for help, but her pride was putting it off for as long as humanly possible, sure that if she got so much as one 'I told you so' out of the woman, blood would be shed.

Finally, it got bad enough that Alistair confronted her, even though he hadn't said more than a few words to her since they had left Redcliffe. After the way their last confrontation had ended, she refused to see it as concern on his part. It was far more likely his only worry was that she would be fit for the looming battle.

"Have you seen Wynne yet?" The abruptness of the question along with the sudden absence of _everyone _told her that he had been put up to this. He was clearly unhappy about it, and staring into the fire to avoid looking at her.

"No." She didn't bother to disguise her ire, figuring if anyone was a deserving target for her sudden bouts of moodiness, it was him. His refusal to even speak to her had left her with nothing to do but curl up with her pain until it was almost unbearable. By now, she couldn't have feigned polite conversation even if she had wanted to. "It's just nerves. There's a _Blight_ going on, in case it's escaped your notice."

"Which is the perfect time to be ridiculously stubborn, naturally."

Elissa opened her mouth for an equally biting retort, but suddenly her stomach gave a violent lurch. _Oh no—not now_. She covered her mouth and ran to the edge of the forest.

She fell to her hands and knees at the base of a tree. As her stomach emptied itself yet again, she dazedly wondered how someone who hadn't been eating could possibly throw up so much. She felt him kneel down behind her just before his hand came to rest gently on the small of her back. It felt like it had been so long since Alistair had touched her, since he'd even dared to come near her, the simple contact seemed to scorch through the thin cloth of her shirt. She couldn't look at him, dizzy and mortified, but he didn't say anything, instead silently handing her a waterskin. She took it, sucking in painful breaths through her teeth as she fought to bring her body back under control.

Suddenly, his hand shifted, running up the ridge of her spine. "Just how much weight have you lost?" For the first time, he sounded worried.

The reminder that he knew her body nearly as well as she did was doing nothing to help her mood. "I'm fine," she managed to say, wincing at the rawness of her throat. "It'll pass. It always does."

"I'm fetching Wynne."

His hand was still resting on her back, his fingertips soothing away the tension almost absentmindedly. She wondered if he even knew what he was doing to her. "I said I was fine."

"Strangely enough, I don't believe you."

She squeezed her eyes shut and abruptly sat up and scooted away—anything to make him stop touching her. "Please. Please, just leave me alone." She was fighting past a knot forming in her throat and she pulled her knees to her chest and dropped her head into her arms so he couldn't see how she struggled.

"You know I'm not going to do that."

The genuine concern was too much for her to bear. "I can't talk to Wynne!" She swallowed heavily. "She's still mad at me for… all of this. I can't stand a lecture right now… I can't…" She was _not _going to cry. This weepiness seemed to be a part of whatever was wrong with her, springing on her when it was least welcome. All of her ability to control herself had fled along with her health. She took several deep breaths, pleased with herself when her eyes stayed mercifully dry.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Alistair begin to reach for her. She tensed, fully ready to punch him his stupid face if he dared to try to hold her after all of this. He seemed to realize it, too, because he paused halfway and dropped his hand with a sigh. "Morrigan, then."

"Fine." She was willing to agree quickly if it meant he would go.

Yet her traitorous heart ached, anyway, when she heard him get up and leave her alone.

Later that night, she was curled up under the blanket in her tent, hoping the others wouldn't bother her for the rest of the evening. Morrigan's examination had been brief, offering her nothing but the assurance that her health would return in time. The witch was still just outside the tent, muttering to herself as she sorted through her herbs.

Elissa immediately recognized the approaching footsteps and went completely still, carefully evening out her breathing so that he would think she was fast asleep.

But of course, Alistair wasn't there to talk to her.

"How is she?" He was quieter than usual, either trying not to disturb her or simply leery of talking to Morrigan. Elissa risked opening one eye just a crack, but Alistair was out of her line of sight.

"The illness will pass." Morrigan was even sharper with him than usual, not deigning to look at him as she dug through her satchel. "I have some herbs that she may brew into tea to help with the symptoms, but there is nothing more I can do. This is one illness she will simply have to wait out."

"Could Wynne—"

Morrigan was quick to cut him off. "No."

He was shifting his weight from foot to foot like he always did when he was unsure; Elissa could hear the crunch of leaves and twigs beneath him. "Is she going to be okay?"

His hesitation seemed to anger Morrigan, who gave him a long, level glare. "You really have no idea what's wrong with her, do you?" She shook her head in disgust. "Typical."

"Don't you _dare_ try to pass this off on me." Elissa was startled by the bitterness in the words. She had never heard it from him before. "Do you really believe I just did any of this on a whim? Leaving Elissa was the last thing I wanted. But, apparently, I'm just _so _important that everyone needs me." He was quiet, struggling for breath. "Everyone but the one person I _wanted _to need me, that is."

Morrigan finally looked at him, and although she'd never been quiet about her dislike of Alistair and he'd threatened more than once to leave a snake in her blankets, Elissa thought she saw a flicker of emotion on the witch's face, a hint of what might have been unease. "You're a fool." She gathered her things and stalked back to her own side of the camp.

* * *

_**Justinian; Year 9:31**_

_**Vigil's Keep**_

_._

.

Elissa woke to a dark room, a blackness so thorough she couldn't see anything. She stiffened immediately, struggling to sit up. "Where—"

"Shh, _bella_." She felt Zevran's hand on her forehead, cautioning stillness. "You must rest."

She was aware of other people in the room, of the faint sounds of rustling clothing and the occasional murmur, but her mind felt foggy, and she couldn't discern their words. "What happened?"

"You fainted, and I do not mind telling you, it was most distressing. Anders is in no condition to tend to you just yet." She felt the bed shift beneath his weight as he sat on the edge. "Rest easy now, my friend. I will watch over you until morning."

Elissa was in no condition to argue. She drifted off once again, but this time it was only sleep.

…

Anders blew into her room the next morning, looking exceptionally cheerful for someone who had just undergone such a grueling experience. Elissa vaguely recalled that the effects of the Joining were gone after a few hours, leaving the increased stamina and focus in its place. Apparently, Anders was comfortable with the change, nearly whistling as he came over to her bedside.

"Huh. One day on the job and you already need a medic. How did you get this far without one?" He didn't wait for her to answer, bending over slightly to brush her hair out of her face with the professional comfort of an experienced healer to get a better look at her. "You look like you had a worse night than I did."

"Well, I didn't." She was still feeling nauseous, and now her head was beginning to hurt as well.

He only shrugged. "You would know, I guess." He cracked his knuckles before dropping his hands to hover just over her midsection. A soothing blue light encompassed them, shimmering for only a moment before the light went out and he nodded to himself. "Ah."

"That's it?" She sat up, eyeing him skeptically. "I've been sick for weeks and it takes you all of half a second to figure out why?"

"Well, seeing as I didn't just go through my Harrowing _yesterday_, it was an easy enough diagnosis," he said with a small smile. "You're pregnant."

Elissa could have sworn her heart stopped beating. All of her limbs suddenly went cold. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out, her mind whirling as all the clues she had missed snapped into place. It was in sheer desperation that she cried out, "I am not!"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Well, at least you're handling it rationally."

"You don't understand!" She was closer to panic than she had ever been in her life, and this fool mage wasn't helping matters with his blasted flippancy. "The Taint—it does things to us. It's nearly impossible for a Grey Warden to have children. I _can't_ get pregnant."

"I see. Well, if you insist, I could try explaining that to the fetus, but I doubt it'd believe me." He glanced over at her and seemed to be startled by her appearance. "Calm down," he said, his demeanor changing so suddenly she knew she must have looked positively wild. His words adopted a familiar composure, almost tranquil, reminding her of the way Wynne had sounded whenever one of them was seriously wounded. "You need to listen to me, Commander. This pregnancy has already taken its toll on your body. You can't risk anymore strain than you've already put on yourself." He sat down next to her. "Do you have any idea of how far along you are?"

She couldn't speak, only shook her head, fear gnawing at her insides like a caged beast. This wasn't happening. Not to her. Maker's breath, she could barely even take care of herself!

"When was your last cycle?"

She thought as hard as she could, determined to come up with an answer that would prove he was _wrong_, but it was hard to remember. She'd been irregular for months, her cycle utterly disrupted with the constant travel and stress and living off of nothing more than bread and dried meat for days at a time. Yet a hollow nag in the pit of her stomach knew it had been a long, long time.

Since before the Landsmeet…

"Oh, _Maker_."

Anders was watching her intently, his light brown eyes tinged with concern. Elissa forced herself to breathe. For all this man's infuriating behavior, she could appreciate that he was a healer first, and if she didn't watch herself, she might very well end up drugged. "I'm okay." Her voice seemed determined to belie that assurance, and she cleared her throat. "I'm just a little shocked."

"Well, rein it in. You're far weaker than you should be, even for a woman in your condition. From the initial feel of the baby, I'd judge you're at about ten weeks, give or take. I'm surprised you didn't figure it out before this, honestly."

Ten weeks. Elissa thought back. It seemed like so short a time, and yet a lifetime ago. Ten weeks ago she had been in Redcliffe, getting ready to leave for Denerim and the Landsmeet. Alistair had been a bundle of nerves at the idea of becoming king, caught between the fear that he would either fail and be at the mercy of Loghain or, even more terrifying to him, that he would succeed. He'd dealt with the pressure the only way he knew how. Elissa couldn't count the amount of times they'd almost been caught in a compromising position by servants or soldiers or, once, even Arl Eamon, while they were putting his desk to use after he had once again been pressuring Alistair to put her aside.

She frowned to herself, the memory of Alistair's hands on her suddenly not as welcome as it once was.

She might have known whatever was wrong with her was his fault.

Anders sighed and sat back. "I suppose I can assume by your lack of enthusiasm that it's not necessary to inform one of the striking men you arrived with of the news."

"No. He's…" _Gone. _She closed her eyes. "He's no one important."

He clearly didn't believe her, but didn't press the issue. "The important thing right now is that you tell me everything about this Taint."

She felt panic begin to bubble to the surface again. "Maker! I didn't even think about that! You don't think there's anything wrong?"

"Hey!" He held up a warning finger. "I've got a sleep spell at the ready. You don't want me to use it on you—it's humiliating. And no, I don't necessarily think anything is wrong, but considering how sick you've been, we need to make sure." He stopped, concentrating. "I can't get a feel for the baby. All I can feel is you. One of the mages that the Grey Warden borrowed from the Circle might be better for this. Do you know which ones they brought?"

Elissa's mind was whirling. It took her a moment to answer. She shook her head, trying to think. "Um. Thomas and Andrew."

"Good. Thomas has some experience with healing. I'll fetch him." Anders started to leave, but paused at the door, watching her. She hated that someone she barely knew was the one to see her when she was so vulnerable. "This doesn't have to be a horrible thing, Commander."

She could only nod.

Aeryc appeared just a moment later, hovering just inside of the door. He had his arms crossed, looking for all the world like he wanted to say something, but wasn't sure how. Elissa wasn't sure what made her so grateful to see him there, except he was someone more familiar than the others, and didn't hate her like Nathaniel, and didn't hate Alistair like Zevran, and he at least knew a little about what had happened between them. She looked at him, drawing a quivering breath. "I'm… I'm going to have a baby."

He only sighed and sat down next to her. "I know."


	8. Challenge

_**A/N**__: What's this? She's _updating_? OMFG!_

_It's true. SoG is about 70% finished now, so I've finally reached a place where I'm confident I have enough of the details in mind that I won't be going in to correct this one anymore. I plan to update more regularly from now on. Sorry to all of you who have been waiting! I certainly hope I can win your interest in this story back._

* * *

**Challenge**

.

_**Justinian; Year 9:31**_

_**Vigil's Keep**_

.

_Who is that girl I see_

_Staring straight back at me_

_Why is my reflection someone I don't know?_

_~ Mulan_

.

.

"Everything appears to be fine, Commander," Thomas said, careful to keep his eyes averted as she pulled her shirt back over her head. Elissa thought that was a little redundant, considering the amount of poking and prodding she had just endured. After nearly an hour of magical intrusion and physical tests, Thomas undoubtedly knew more of her body than he had ever wanted to. She glanced over at Anders, who lounged in a chair in the corner, his eyes also fixed on a worn spot on the floor.

Apparently, healers were trained to make you believe they _hadn't _just seen you naked.

Considering she had known Anders for less than a full day and he had already managed to witness her lose it in front of Nathaniel _and _fall apart at the news of her condition, she didn't think it mattered much at this point. She was already fully poised to dislike him on principle.

Thomas was still speaking as he packed away his collection of instruments, both medical and magical. "The Taint in you doesn't seem to have had any effect on the fetus, but I'd like to stay and assist Anders through the remainder of the pregnancy just to be safe. With your permission, of course. I'm sure I could get leave from the Circle in such an unusual case."

"Whatever you think is best," she muttered as she fastened her belt, wanting only to be left alone for a little while. She was beginning to feel a bit like an oddity the two healers were researching together, and it was making her testy. It suddenly occurred to her that she was finally in a position where she didn't have to make an excuse to get rid of them, either. She lifted her head with a sigh, flipping her hair back behind her shoulder. "Thank you. I want to be alone now."

Both of them got up to leave without arguing. Taking this command apparently had some advantages, after all.

Her next guest was not so easily gotten rid of. Elissa flopped down on her bed, lying on her stomach and cradling a pillow, determined not to look the assassin in the eye. For some strange reason, she couldn't shake the sensation that she had done something horribly inappropriate, even embarrassing. "I guess you've heard."

"Indeed." She heard him as he moved across the floor to occupy the chair Anders had been in only a moment before. "Fate remains a tricky whore, it seems."

Aiden leapt up beside her a moment later, making the bed creak in protest beneath his weight as he nudged her with his nose. Elissa sighed and reached out to stroke his ears, smiling sadly when he curled up next to her with a soft whine. "I'll be fine, boy."

"You most certainly will," Zevran said from behind her, and she could hear the smile in his tone. "Come, this melancholy is not like you, Elissa. Out of the many, many reasons you should sink into a spiral of shame over your involvement with the templar, I hardly think his rather unexpected fertility should be one of them."

Elissa made a sound somewhere between a groan and a giggle, turning her head to face him. "Please don't ever put it like that again." She sat up, running her hand through her tangled hair. She hadn't realized just how close to tears she had been until just then. "I could use that drink now."

He raised an eyebrow. "I will fetch you some _water_."

The bastard had even robbed her of the option of getting colossally drunk. "Oh. Right." She growled to herself, scooting to the edge of the bed. "Maker, I don't know what I'm going to do."

Zevran shrugged. "You are going to grow a considerably rounder, to begin with, which will doubtless increase your already terrifying appetite. I must admit, I am rather looking forward to seeing it. Then you are going to give birth, no doubt with all the grace and charm of an intoxicated bronto. I think I must be looking forward to seeing that, as well. At the very least, in taking wagers on how many of your young warriors you can send running in fear of their lives. After that, we shall just have to see."

Elissa rolled her eyes. "Right. Simple."

He smiled at her sarcasm. "These matters _are _rather simple, no? We are the ones who insist on complicating them."

… … …

It took every ounce of courage Elissa possessed to return to the great hall that afternoon, sure she was going to find everyone staring at her. It appeared only vanity allowed her to imagine as much, because the hall was practically empty. A handful of serving girls were in the far corner, chopping vegetables for the evening meal. Aeryc sat alone at the honor table, his hand wrapped around a tankard.

Elissa let out a long sigh. She had no idea what had driven him to fall back into old habits after these past couple of weeks, but he couldn't be permitted to indulge in it. Without a word, she picked up the tankard and threw the contents into the fire. It splashed the logs with a loud sizzle, releasing the acrid smell of burning hops. He looked up at her, leaning back in the chair. "I only took one drink anyway, and I have to admit, it tasted like piss."

"I would suggest not doing it again, then." She straddled the bench beside him, lacing her fingers together to look him over. He had seemed considerably warmer, even bordering on kind, when he came up to her room earlier. Now the distance was back, thicker than it had been before. He avoided looking directly at her. "What's the problem?"

He sighed and leaned back, running a hand over his face. "The least of my concerns when you brought me here was getting ready for a birthing."

"It was the last thing I was expecting, as well, but that's the way it is."

"Fair enough." He finally glanced at her, watching her out of the corner of his eye. "You're going to need a second."

"You're it."

He only nodded. "Then as such, I might suggest getting underway in finding the equipment we're going to need. Come winter, you're not going to be able to travel anymore."

She nodded, thoughtful. "You ever been to Soldier's Peak?"

He shook his head.

"There's a family there that might be some help in that regard, and they owe me a favor. They set fair prices, too." She got up, motioning for Aeryc to follow her. "Come on, then. The dwarven masons are here to let us know just how much work this place needs, and we need to take a tour of the grounds and beginning seriously planning for everything we need."

… … …

Elissa was tired enough by that afternoon that she fell asleep right in the great hall, to weary to bother dragging herself up to her own chambers. She stretched out on a cushioned bench for her nap, a little frustrated by her complete lack of energy. Although it was a bit of a relief to finally discover the cause behind it, it didn't go far in making her feel any better.

She was awoken a few hours later by the sound of voices, standing close enough that she felt the indefinable presence of two people hovering over her before she even opened her eyes. One voice belonged to Zevran. The other was low and guttural, tugging at her recent memory with such insistence that it drew her to full wakefulness, her mind actively working to try to place it.

"What's she sleepin' for?"

"She does that quite a lot these days. Elissa is currently in a… delicate condition."

"So I heard. Knocked up. Heh. Who'da thunk the little pike-twirler had it in him?"

Elissa's eyes flew open and she lifted her head, bleary-eyed, to see a familiar, ruddy face peering down at her, most of it obscured by a mass of tangled red beard. "Oghren?"

"Hiya, Warden."

She pushed her hair back and rubbed her eyes, sure she had to be dreaming. "What the fuck are _you _doing here?"

… … …

"He didn't even pass out!"

"I know."

"He asked for more!"

"I _know_."

Anders was clearly getting annoyed by her lack of shocked horror. He cast a glare at Oghren, being led away to a room to sleep it off by Zevran. He crossed his arms. "How do you explain that?"

"He's…" Elissa tried to come up with something that sounded halfway reasonable, but ended up shrugging it off as a bad job. "He's Oghren."

Anders shook his head, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "That must have been quite a crowd you surrounded yourself with."

Elissa felt a small smile curve her lips as she remembered the many colorful encounters of the previous year. "Oghren is a bit more interesting than most." She got up and stretched, silently hoping she wouldn't have to perform any more Joinings for at least a while. She was almost giddy at the relief that filled her. Oghren and she had never been particularly close, but it would have pained her to see him die. Especially since he was trying to do something useful for a change.

Anders still looked skeptical, but he shrugged it off, apparently deciding it didn't really matter to him either way. He seemed to have more pressing concerns on his mind, anyway. "What's this I hear about going to Soldier's Peak?"

Elissa glanced over at him, noting the doubtful look he was giving her. She felt her spine stiffen, positive she knew what was coming. "At the end of the week. I have business with the Dryden clan."

"I have to advise against it, Commander. I warned you that rest is important right now. This pregnancy isn't going to be easy on you as it is. Riding all over the country is only going to make things worse."

Jaedan's head jerked up like a startled horse. "You're _pregnant_?"

Elissa crossed her arms, glaring at Anders, who seemed to shrink slightly under the heated look. "Put up a notice, why don't you?"

He started to reply, but something in her expression stopped him. Instead, he started backing towards the door, lightly pointing at the exit over his shoulder. "I'm just going to… go."

"You do that."

He hurried from the room. Elissa could still feel Jaedan's eyes on her, bewildered and a little accusing. She groaned. This pregnancy was _already_ getting on her nerves. "I don't want to talk about this."

"I'm just a little shocked. I didn't think… I mean, I know that you and Zevran are close, but—"

"Shut _up_, Jaedan," Aeryc said, but his meaningful look was lost on the younger man. He shook his head, lowering his voice to a mutter. "It's the King's. Idiot."

"Oh. I probably should have realized… _oh._" The reality of her predicament seemed to hit him unexpectedly, his blue eyes widening. He suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Um… are you going to tell him?"

Elissa almost snapped at him to mind his own damn business, but realized she couldn't do that. Word was going to spread, eventually, and anyone who knew was going to be held just as accountable if she didn't hurry up and figure out how to tell Alistair. Jaedan was probably not very keen on the idea of committing treason for the sake of her feelings on the matter.

Not that it was going to make her any more reasonable, at the moment. She felt all her anger and frustration welling up within her, sick and tired of people expecting her to know what she was going to do already. The words burst out of her in a hurried, bitter rush of pure panic she had been trying to keep tamped down since Anders first broke the news to her. "No," she snapped. "I'm going to _kill _him. 'They're going to expect an heir, Elissa.' 'I have a responsibility to the crown, Elissa.' That wretched, lecherous swine! If he had just kept his blasted hands to himself, this never would have happened!"

"Well, it's not exactly _all _his fault," Jaedan said in a transparent attempt to sound reasonable. He flinched when Elissa whirled on him.

"Oh, yes it is! I can't have children!"

"Well, technically, he's not supposed to be able to, ei—"

"_Shut up, Jaedan_!"

He swallowed. "I'm beginning to think that would probably be best."

"I don't know anything about babies! I'm a Grey Warden! My entire life is death and darkspawn and finding recruits, and now all that _anyone _seems to be able to talk about is this pregnancy and what I'm going to do about it, and I want my mother and I don't care who knows it!" She flopped down into her chair, rubbing her eyes.

Aeryc alone seemed unmoved by her tantrum, watching her with the same calm he always did. "Take Anders to the Peak with us. You can figure out what to do after that."

She shot to her feet and tossed her hair over her shoulder, headed for the door. "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to go over the books with Varel while you two take the Wardens into the yard and start them training. And the next person who mentions the word 'baby' around me gets to stand in as an example while I demonstrate the advantages of kicking your opponent in the crotch. I'm _not _kidding."

… … …

Summer arrived in full, brightening the grey, worn stone of the keep and covering the offending mud in the yards with soft grass. Workers filled the area, tearing down the weakened parts of the structure and rebuilding, yelling at each other across the collections of sheds and barracks. With the change of season also came a wave of new recruits to add to the ones Elissa had actively sought out. Suddenly, Vigil's Keep was bursting with people—servants looking for work after the Blight, carpenters and masons, and twenty new Grey Wardens that showed remarkable promise.

As the days rolled on, Elissa felt her panic and uncertainty slowly diminish, grateful to have a clear purpose and a hundred different ways to keep her mind active in the long stretch of peace they had been granted. She began finding it more difficult to keep her pregnancy concealed, but the use of loose linen shirts still disguised the small mound that was swelling her previously flat stomach, even if she was quickly approaching a time when her armor would be of no use to her. She still rode out at the head of her Wardens when news of darkspawn activity reached them, but she found herself keeping to the back of things, trading in her blades for the less familiar bow she rarely used. She wasn't nearly as skilled with the weapon, but for the first time in her life, she was hesitant to get hurt, suddenly aware of the small, helpless life that rested solely in her care.

Aeryc had slowly began to take charge of these excursions, often without including her. She would have resented him for it, but within the walls of the keep, he remained completely deferential, waiting for her final word on any major decisions that involved the Order and careful to remind the more cynical men who truly ran things. After a few weeks of this, she was forced to swallow her pride and admit that he had no intention of taking her command—he simply had more sense than she did.

It was a hot, muggy day filled with the annoying buzzing of flies and insects when a new kind of trouble came to the keep.

Elissa was in her office, irritably pulling at her shirt, which seemed determined to stick to her skin whenever it brushed against her. Zevran lounged in the window, his arms crossed as he dozed quietly, waiting for her to finish talking to Aeryc so they could leave. He had convinced her to go to the shore with him, trying to find a reprieve from the heat, and she had to admit, she was looking forward to it. "Take Zevran and Nathaniel," she said to Aeryc, reaching up to lift her hair away from the back of her neck. Word had reached them of some darkspawn activity in the surrounding farmlands, but Elissa suspected it stemmed from rumor, given the reports of stolen crops and missing trinkets.

Aeryc had come to the same conclusion. He sighed. "Do you really think it's necessary?"

She shrugged. "People are still frightened. It'll make them feel better to see you out there, even if it turns out to be nothing. Amaranthine is still doubtful about the arling being under the command of the Grey Wardens. We need to hold onto their support."

"If you prefer. I find it slightly ironic that you aren't insisting on coming with us, for a change."

Elissa laughed. "Imagine that."

They were suddenly interrupted by a crash coming from the yard that made Zevran jerk awake, followed by the sound of raised voices. Elissa got to her feet, glancing curiously out the window. Before she could figure out what was going on, Thomas came bursting into the room, his usually mild eyes wide and panic stricken. "Commander—templars! They've got Anders!"

"_What_?" Elissa was running before the question was even out of her mouth, Aeryc and Zevran right behind her. The entire great hall was headed out into the yard, and Elissa shoved her way through the throng, sprinting for the outer yard.

A crowd of templars were stalled at the gates by Tomlin and a handful of the Orlesians, all standing with their swords drawn. Jaedan, showing more sense than she had credited him with, had already closed the gates, yelling at the guards on the walls to keep their bows trained on the intruders.

"This is the official business of the Chantry!" A tall, rather large example of a templar extremist was at the head of the crowd, his face flushed red and clashing horribly with his light brown hair. "You have no right to detain us!"

Elissa pushed her way through, finally catching sight of Anders. Two templars supported him by his arms, but he was limp in their grasp, his face bruised and swollen, blood dribbling down his chin. She sucked in a furious breath, moving forward with her sword in her hand. "You have no jurisdiction here."

The young man turned his angry glare on her, a patronizing smirk in place that made her muscles tense. "This is no concern of yours, my lady. This man is an apostate."

There was just enough condescending patience in his tone, like he spoke to an ignorant child. Elissa's eyes flashed in warning. "That man is a Grey Warden and under my command. Release him, or face charges of assault under the laws of Amaranthine."

"You can't possibly—"

Elissa sword flashed up, pointed directly at his throat. The Wardens immediately imitated her example, weapons brought to bear and glinting in the sun. "Watch me."

Glowering, the man made a subtle motion with his hand. The templars holding Anders dropped him into the dirt. He groaned, too weak to stand. Elissa was careful not to take her eyes off of the speaker. "Thomas, make sure he's okay." _And don't heal him—not in front of them_. She couldn't think of a way to relay the message in front of the crowd, but Thomas had apparently had the same thought. He knelt beside Anders, careful hands testing him for signs of other injuries, but made no move to summon the healing magic that would bring him some relief.

"Who are you?" she asked the beefy templar.

He drew himself up to his full, impressive height. "Ser Blaen of the Denerim Chantry. I was sent here by Commander Rylock, a knight of the royal guard. I promise you, we will be taking this matter to the King." Blaen looked quite smug at this announcement, and it took Elissa several moments to figure out why. Someone this fervent would be of the mindset that another templar had to feel the same way he did, and would immediately side with the Chantry. It was no secret that previous kings of Ferelden had overturned the Right of Conscription in the past—or driven the Wardens out entirely, for that matter.

He was in for a nasty shock.

"You do that. Let me know what he says, will you? Until then, _get off my land_."

She didn't budge until they were gone, but the moment they disappeared around the bend in the road, she fell to her knees beside Anders. He looked up at her through the slit that was his eye, coughing and clutching his side. "Will they be back?"

She wasn't going to lie to him. "Yes." She reached down to help him to his feet. He was heavier than he looked, and she was grateful when Jaedan moved forward to help her support him. "But when they are, it'll be as renegades. We can handle them, then. Thomas, don't heal him until we're back inside. I don't want you using your magic anywhere near those fanatical bastards."


	9. Relationships

_**A/N**__: I feel the need to add a disclaimer at this point of the story. From here on, some of the decisions made are going to be a little on the murky side, ethically speaking. I just want to make it clear right now that it's not my intention to portray Elissa as being right or wrong, or Alistair, either, for that matter. They're both human and make plenty of mistakes, and this is a growing up story for Elissa as much as it is anything. Likewise, Wynne and Zevran are two extreme examples of people who have chosen sides, and their attitudes are meant to be skewed in those directions. I, personally, claim total neutrality on the issue, so please don't yell at me about some of the stupid things these characters are going to say or do in the future._

* * *

**Relationships**

_._

_**Drakonis; Year 9:31**_

_**Dalish Camp**_

.

_Sometimes it is the person closest to us who must travel the furthest distance to be our friend._

_~Robert Brault_

.

.

The night was cold, the light of the campfire reflecting off the last layers of crust-covered snow that stubbornly lingered in the shadow of the trees. It wasn't bitter, though, the final bite of winter having given way to the hesitant first signs of spring. The camp was quiet around them—Oghren and Zevran had already disappeared to take over the watch, but Elissa decided to warm herself by the fire before trudging to her own tent to find her rest. Now, curled up in Alistair's arms and securely wrapped in a fluffy blanket, she wasn't so sure she wanted to get up. The night sky was perfectly clear, the stars shining brightly over the still, cleansed forest, and she was in danger of dozing off right where she sat.

"Have you ever been in love before?" she asked, somewhat drowsily.

"Hmm." Alistair pulled the blanket a bit tighter around them, pausing to press his lips against her temple as he thought about it. "Not since I was nine. A scullery maid's daughter—I was teasing her one day and she shoved me hard enough to knock me into a puddle. I was instantly crazy about her." Elissa felt him smile against her skin as she giggled. "What about you?"

"No." She hesitated, wondering if she was about to reveal too much before adding, "I thought I was, once."

He laughed softly, his arms tightening around her momentarily in a small hug. "You mean you actually had a basis for comparison and I _still_ got in? Wow. I didn't see that coming." He bent his head, his lips brushing against the tender skin at the curve of her neck, sending a pleasant wave of shivers down her back. "Tell me."

She shrugged and moved slightly, finding his hands beneath the blanket as she sank back into him, letting her head fall back on his shoulder. "I was sixteen. He was older than me. Intelligent. Thoughtful. Just the type to send a young girl spinning into dreams of hopeless romanticism." She smiled when she felt him chuckle behind her. "He thought I was annoying when I was younger, but that year, something… changed. It sounds silly now, but there was a time I couldn't imagine being without him."

"What happened?"

"Nothing, really. We had one summer together, and then he left. I was heartbroken."

"Ah, the mysterious necklace-giver." He took a few seconds to consider that. "You certainly don't mention him much."

"He's been gone for many years now. I hadn't even thought about him in… well, a long time."

He was quiet for a moment. "Not even a little?" She shook her head, but still felt a shift in his mood, a small tension of uncertainty seeping into the peaceful languor. She thought it odd, that the revelation she _didn't_ think about it had sent him off balance. "What about me?" he asked at length, his voice very quiet. "Are you going to realize one day I'm just a hopeless crush as well?"

So that was it. Elissa sighed, knowing exactly where his thoughts were wandering, simply because hers rarely lingered anywhere else recently. This was the last of the treaties, and tomorrow they would be leaving for Redcliffe in preparation for the Landsmeet. She drew a deep breath, shaking her head at the hopeless truth of it. "No."

His lips brushed her ear, something low and needful in his voice when he whispered, "Say it again?"

She turned her head, looking up at him in the dim starlight, melancholy settling into her heart as she saw his beautiful hazel eyes fixed on her, searching. "I love you."

His mouth captured hers the moment the words were out, faint desperation belying the gentle coaxing of his lips. Elissa gave herself over, savoring each second as if she could memorize every little detail. It was a long time before he pulled away, and he just looked at her for a long, heavy moment before he shook his head, moving to get to his feet. "We should get some sleep."

Elissa nodded and reached up to take the hand he offered to help her up. She forced a smile and a more natural tone of voice, teasing, "I'm not going to have to make up for a flare of irrational jealousy now, am I?"

"Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but _that_ might sound too intriguing to pass up." He smiled and twined his fingers through hers. "Though I can't say I'm sorry he was stupid enough to let you get away."

She chuckled and allowed him to lead her back to the tent. "Neither am I."

* * *

_**August; Year 9:31**_

_**Vigil's Keep**_

.

.

By late summer, the rebuilding of the Keep was well underway, but the damage was extensive enough that she worried it wouldn't be completed by the time the snows came. As a result, the Wardens themselves were adding to the labor force, more than willing to help haul stone and mix mortar if it meant having a roof over their heads during the cold months. All over again, Elissa found herself cursing Arl Howe for being such a sorry example of a noble lord. She had known he was a greedy, grasping swine, but being stupid on top of it all was just salt on the wound.

The coming winter promised to be a hard one, and Elissa spend a good deal of time in the cellar, counting wheels of cheese, sacks of grain, and barrels of ale, trying to determine what they were going to need to survive the winter. The harvest threatened to be a lean one after the Blight, word arriving from Denerim pleading for the bannorn to take only what was absolutely essential in their autumn taxes. Though Howe had been rich in coin, he had apparently demanded it over the standard tax offerings, because the cellars in the keep were a sad sight. A few sacks of grain and apples were all they had to supplement the kitchen's stores.

"It's going to be a rough winter," she told Aeryc as she scribbled down figures. She paused long enough in her calculations to shift her position, propping her feet up on a low stool to try to ease some of the pressure in her back. Her pregnancy was past the point of trying to conceal any longer, and the considerable bulge around her middle made sitting for long periods of time uncomfortable. Standing, too.

Come to think of it, she was usually uncomfortable these days.

He shrugged and tossed the last sack of grain into the corner. "We'll get by." He reached over and plucked what was going to be her third apple out of her hand. "It would help, of course, if you didn't eat everything in sight," he added before biting into it himself.

Elissa sighed, rubbing her middle. "I can't help it. I'm _hungry_." She kicked the stool aside and got up, pressing her hands to the small of her back as she stretched. "I'm going to the kitchens. You coming?"

"I suppose someone has to keep you from wolfing through the winter stores."

The light of the sun was welcome after so many hours in the dark cellar, bright and warm against the yellowing leaves. The courtyard was covered in a blanket of red and gold, the crunch of leaves muffling their footsteps as they made their way over the main keep. Elissa closed her eyes and tilted her face towards the honeyed sun, breathing deeply. She had always loved the autumn more than any other time of year, loved the smell of leaves and wind and the gentle hint of coolness to the air.

"Nate! Catch!"

"Don't call me Nate."

Elissa opened her eyes slowly, glancing around for the source of the interruption. She spotted Jaedan standing on the roof of the barracks, tossing down bundles of thatch to a waiting Nathaniel. Both were stripped to the waist in the summer heat, and she watched as Jaedan lifted his arm to wipe the sweat from his brow. Though she was in no condition mentally _or _physically to be sincerely interested in anyone, she couldn't deny that Jaedan was pleasant to look at now and then. He was tall and strongly built, numerous nicks and scars running across his chest and arms as testament to his warrior's life. As she watched, he caught the edge of the building and swung over the ledge, dangling from overhang for a moment before he dropped down to the cobblestones below.

"I keep telling you you'd make a decent rogue," Nathaniel said quietly as he stacked the remaining bundles. "It would suit your style far better. Always flowing, always changing, like a river."

Jaedan only laughed. "So you're a broody _poet _now? Come on, Nathaniel—don't be that guy."

To her surprise, Nathaniel offered him a grin as they picked up the supplies to carry back to the yard. As they passed, Nathaniel paused in his step for only a moment before he nodded at her in greeting. "Commander."

Elissa frankly gaped as they walked by before turning to Aeryc for answers. "What's with him?"

Aeryc shrugged. "We ran into his sister in Amaranthine. I think she might have had a thing or two to say worth hearing. Like how their father had taken leave of his senses."

"We've been telling him that for months."

"Apparently it wasn't as convincing coming from us."

Yet Elissa had a chance to speak to Nathaniel herself later that evening. She was in the library, sitting cross-legged on the floor and sorting through a collection of tomes she intended to lug back to her own room when she suddenly became aware she wasn't alone. Nathaniel appeared from behind one of the shelves, so intent in his search that it took him a moment to spot her. When he did, he froze in mid-step, grey eyes widening slightly. He stared at her for so long it made her uncomfortable.

"It takes me quite a bit of effort to get up from this position," she said dryly. "So if you're going to try to kill me, I'd appreciate it if you'd do it already so I don't have to get up twice."

He finally moved, crossing his arms with a low, wry laugh beneath his breath. She made a note of his stance, shifting lightly with his weight primarily resting on his front leg, and she realized he seemed _nervous_. His eyes drifted over her for a moment, stopping to linger on her belly. Though Nathaniel had absolutely no way of knowing who had fathered her babe, the scrutiny made her a little nervous. She rested a hand protectively on her stomach.

The movement seemed to snap him out of his stupor. "He just let you leave?" he asked finally, very quietly.

She didn't need to ask what he was talking about. Instead she sighed and slid one of the books back onto the shelf behind her. "I'm here, aren't I?"

He shook his head, muttering beneath his breath. "Idiot."

Elissa rolled her eyes, remembering a similar sentiment Alistair had expressed once upon a time. "That seems to be a popular opinion _after _the fact."

Nathaniel dropped his arms, looking pained. "It really wasn't like that." He couldn't quite look at her, his gaze focused somewhere over her shoulder as he spoke. "I carried that summer with me for… I don't know. Years." He lifted his head, staring up at the ceiling as he considered his next words. "Tell me the truth, for the sake of those years. Are you the one that killed him?"

For a moment, she considered lying, just to try to keep some semblance of peace between them. She had never stooped to such tactics, however, and couldn't bring herself to do it now. With a deep breath, she lifted her chin. "Yes."

Silence fell, thick and heavy. Without another word, Elissa began to gather up her books, struggling to her feet. Nathaniel looked at her when she made to walk past him. His eyes were cold and hard as ice, but his voice was calm enough when he said, "You should get one of the men to carry those for you."

"I've got them," she said quietly, eager to be away from him. She walked quickly out of the library, hurrying up the steps to her own chamber. As she rounded the corner, she leaned against a wall, finding it hard to catch her breath. It took her a few deep breaths before she realized she was close to tears.

A sudden pain stabbed through her abdomen, sharp enough to make her stumble and drop her books with a loud clatter. She leaned with one hand on the wall beside her, the other resting on her middle. The pain receded, but when she tried to straighten up, it came again, hard enough to make her gasp this time.

Bloody _fucking _Howes.

… … …

Anders' hands hovered over her middle as the gentle flow of healing magic surged through her, seeping through muscle and nerve and bone with a quiet, peaceful warmth. He had such beautiful hands, she thought, the supple, long-fingered hands of a true healer. Despite Anders' numerous other faults, he had proven himself to be that over the past few months, empathetic in a way Wynne had never even tried to accomplish and even tender when needed. Within seconds the pain ebbed, allowing her to take her first deep breath since it had begun. She relaxed back on the small cot, feeling suddenly warm and drowsy.

"It was just a little ligament pain," Anders said, his low, soothing tone making her wonder if he had done something to make her sleepy, as well. "It's not unusual, but nothing you should have to suffer through, either. Right now all you need is a good night's rest. Let Aeryc take you to your room."

She was too tired to argue. She got to her feet and dragged herself in the direction of her chamber, allowing Aeryc to trail along behind her. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy, her limbs pleasantly warm and relaxed. Anders had _definitely _done something. She would have to kick his ass for that later. Right now, she needed sleep.

Aeryc waited until she was outside of her room before asking, "Elissa, how much longer are you going to put off sending word to Denerim?"

She shook her head and collapsed on her bed, reaching over to give Aiden a quick pat before she answered. "Why? I wasn't good enough for him before. Why should I be now?"

He rolled his eyes, fixing her with a knowing look. "Don't you think you're being a little…?"

"No, I'm being a _lot_," she said, resting her head on her pillow and bringing her knees to her chest. She stared across the room, sighing at herself. "I'll send a letter tomorrow."


End file.
